te can cause so much pleasure! We stood
gazing in silence upon each other for some time, ere we could find words
to express our feelings. At length they were poured forth in
congratulations and kind inquiries. To be alone, we retired to my
bedroom, where I gave him a full account of all that had befallen me
since we last met, and the present unsettled state of my resolves. He
heard me with varying interest, until I had concluded.

"Square," said he, "you have been sorely knocked about, a passive agent,
without an object, save to enjoy or suffer the present hour. Now, to
succeed, we must have an aim, and hold it in sight, whatever may befall;
even should it often elude our grasp, we must not despair or relinquish
it for another. My wish is an old age of independence. I may die this
night, or I may live until old age has long impaired my energies. To
obtain this, my wish, I have, from circumstances, chosen my present
calling; nor have I allowed the most adverse fortune to shake my
resolve, or change my method of recovering it; for perseverance is the
only road that leads to success. Fortune placed you in America at your
outset in life. You forsook the path others have trod in with success.
You prospered at sea, and threw the golden opportunity away for a whim;
a third time you were placed in fortune's way; a dark cloud passed over
it; you gave way to your feelings, and are once more, with years of lost
time, where you commenced."

As he spoke, a feeling anything but gratifying passed over my mind. I
felt that what he said was strictly true; that I had been living, until
now, without an aim, either of avarice or ambition--my thoughts never
having extended to the future, nor a care for to-morrow having ever
occupied my mind. His cares, again, were all for to-morrow. This
difference could not have arisen from education; for in this we were
both alike. He, in short, had more prudence. But to proceed. I requested
him to give me an account of the manner in which he had lived since we
had been separated.

"You know, John," he began, "that we were twins in adversity upon the
streets of Edinburgh, equally friendless and penniless. After your
departure, I felt for a few days very sad and lonely. I sought you
everywhere in vain, and made every inquiry; but who cared aught about a
homeless beggar-boy? Had a dog as strangely disappeared, the public
crier would have proclaimed him through the streets. I began, young as I
was, seriou