CHAPTER XV.

PERHAPS our readers may not be averse to learning a little more of Abel, whom we left a pale, sickly, timid boy, under the patronage of the worshipful Alderman Gobble.

That worthy did his duty by his charge, generously and conscientiously. He gave Abel a good education, and at his own death, bequeathed to his adopted son, a fortune large enough to support him in comfort and respectability, even without

the aid of the profession, to which he hoped Abel might attach himself. But Abel did not do so. The thoughtful turn of mind which appeared in the boy, was more fully developed in the reflective youth he was old enough, on his guardian's death, to reflect on life's various chances, and on his own peculiar inaptitude, physically and mentally, to struggle successfully through its various turmoils, or to push his way through a crowd of eagerly contending aspirants, to any station of particular emolument or fame.

""Tis safe riding in a good haven,'" said the young philosopher to his brother John, who, full from crown to toe himself with the bustling energy of life, could hardly understand his brother Abel's resolution, to rest content with the means he possessed, when he had youth, talent, education, and friends, to further his progress in any profession he might choose to adopt.

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Money makes money,' and doubtless,

were I to give myself to barter and chaffer, I might multiply my guineas; but I cannot, and if I could-to what end? Riches are but the baggage of fortune,' and, to my thinking, he is rich enough that can keep himself warm.'"

"All very wise and true, no doubt," said John; "but you mistake me Abel; I am not urging you to a mere hunt after fortune, you have, as you say, enough; but I want to see you distinguish yourself in some higher vocation-literary or scientific-you are too retiring, my dear brother your talents should not be hidden under a bushel; I want to see you shine. in the world."

"Honour and ease are seldom bedfellows,' Jack."

"Now, wouldn't any one think thou wert the idlest dog on earth," said John, laughing; "to put me off with the ends of old saws, thus, instead of being, as I know you are, the very reverse. However, take your own way, I'll counsel no more; only for

once I, in my turn, will indulge you with a proverb. A wilfu' man should be unco wise.'"

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"And I'll cap your Scotticism with another, John, Counsel is nae command,' and I thank you for your kindly meant counsel, brother mine, though I do not think to fol- low it.

Nor did he; he followed the counsel of his own heart and mind, that quiet Abel, enquired, if not hastily or capriciously, but many a time and oft, in the watches of the night, and the solitary musings of the day —and we never heard that he repented, in after life, of the decision he had thus made.

He was now in his early manhood-much what his childhood had foreshadowed

rather above the middle height, pale, and somewhat attenuated; but not more so

than was consistent with a healthy appear

ance.

He was delicate, not sickly. His countenance was thoughtful; and when in repose, singularly placid; his diction somewhat quaint without being formal; his mind was cultivated and his taste refined by that cultivation.

His disposition was intensely affectionate but singularly undemonstrative; apparently, cold as alabaster; really, glowing with the kindliest feelings of humanity.

The one event of his life, which fixed upon him the fate of old-bachelorism, and which was, I have always thought, the original fount of that slight tinge of sarcasm discernible in his later life, and which caused his half-sisters to call him cynic, occurred shortly after the period of which we have just spoken, and has, hitherto, been known but to one individual, besides myself.

Amongst the acquaintance of a style and rank somewhat superior to that hereditarily his, to whom his domiciliation at