ch should light to fame and fortune the manhood
about to commence. Hope and Ambition were high within me; and yet,
behind them stood Melancholy. Ah! who amongst you, readers, can now
summon back all those thoughts, sweet and sad,--all that untold,
half-conscious regret for the past,--all those vague longings for
the future, which made a poet of the dullest on the last night before
leaving boyhood and school forever?

PART III.

CHAPTER I.

It was a beautiful summer afternoon when the coach set me down at my
father's gate. Mrs. Primmins herself ran out to welcome me; and I had
scarcely escaped from the warm clasp of her friendly hand before I was
in the arms of my mother.

As soon as that tenderest of parents was convinced that I was not
famished, seeing that I had dined two hours ago at Dr. Herman's, she
led me gently across the garden towards the arbor. "You will find your
father so cheerful," said she, wiping away a tear. "His brother is with
him."

I stopped. His brother! Will the reader believe it? I had never heard
that he had a brother, so little were family affairs ever discussed in
my hearing.

"His brother!" said I. "Have I then an Uncle Caxton as well as an Uncle
Jack?"

"Yes, my love," said my mother. And then she added, "Your father and he
were not such good friends as they ought to have been, and the Captain
has been abroad. However, thank Heaven! they are now quite reconciled."

We had time for no more,--we were in the arbor. There, a table was
spread with wine and fruit,--the gentlemen were at their dessert; and
those gentlemen were my father, Uncle Jack, Mr. Squills, and--tall,
lean, buttoned-to-the-chin--an erect, martial, majestic, and imposing
personage, who seemed worthy of a place in my great ancestor's "Boke of
Chivalrie."

All rose as I entered; but my poor father, who was always slow in his
movements, had the last of me. Uncle Jack had left the very powerful
impression of his great seal-ring on my fingers; Mr. Squills had patted
me on the shoulder and pronounced me "wonderfully grown;" my new-found
relative had with great dignity said, "Nephew, your hand, sir,--I am
Captain de Caxton;" and even the tame duck had taken her beak from her
wing and rubbed it gently between my legs, which was her usual mode of
salutation, before my father placed his pale hand on my forehead, and
looking at me for a moment with unutterable sweetness, said, "More and
more like your mother,--God