unted to you all the beautiful and shadowy
reminiscences of my happy infancy--to watch the pensive smile steal
over your lips, as I described the garden in which I played, the dear
little white bed in which I slept, and where my own dear mother nightly
knelt beside me, to hear me repeat my simple prayers and hymns, before
she kissed and blessed me, and left me to the protecting care of the
great Father in Heaven.

"Ah!" I exclaimed one evening, while sitting at my aunt's feet, "why
did she die and leave me for ever? I am nobody's child. Other little
boys have kind mothers to love them, but I am alone in the world. Aunt,
let me be your boy--your own dear little boy, and I will love you
almost as well as I did my poor mamma!"

The good woman caught me to her heart, tears were streaming down her
kind, benevolent face, she kissed me passionately, as she sobbed out,

"Geoffrey, you will never know how much I love you--more, my poor boy,
than I dare own. But rest assured that you shall never want a mother's
love while I live."

Well and conscientiously did she perform her promise. She has long been
dead, but time will never efface from my mind a tender recollection of
her kindness. Since I arrived at man's estate, I have knelt beside her
grave, and moistened the turf which enfolds that warm, noble heart with
grateful tears.

She had, as I before stated, one son--the first-born and only survivor
of a large family. This boy was a great source of anxiety to his
mother; a sullen, unmanageable, ill-tempered child. Cruel and cowardly,
he united with the cold, selfish disposition of the father, a jealous,
proud and vindictive spirit peculiarly his own. It was impossible to
keep on friendly terms with Theophilus Moncton: he was always taking
affronts, and ever on the alert to dispute and contradict every word or
opinion advanced by another. He would take offence at every look and
gesture, which he fancied derogatory to his dignity; and if you refused
to speak to him, he considered that you did not pay him proper
respect--that you slighted and insulted him.

He was afraid of his father, for whom he entertained little esteem or
affection; and to his gentle mother he was always surly and
disobedient; ridiculing her maternal admonitions, and thwarting and
opposing her commands, because he knew that his opposition pained and
annoyed her.

_Me_--he hated; and not only told me so to my face, both in public
and private, but encourag