wo hundred pounds, which I consider in a
manner as her property, and what d'ye think I mean to do with it? I'll
tell you. I'll give her education as well as money. This sum will keep
her at a good school for a matter of four years, and I've made up my
mind that she shall go. I don't like to part with her, that's certain;
but it's for her good, so all's right. Don't you think so?"

"I do, indeed, father," replied I. "I shall miss her as much as you do;
but, as you say, it's all right, and I'm very glad that you have so
decided."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

IN WHICH THERE IS A HOP, SKIP, AND A JUMP.

Life has often, and with great truth, been compared to a river. In
infancy a little rill, gradually increasing to the pure and limpid
brook, which winds through flowery meads, "giving a gentle kiss to every
ridge it overtaketh in its pilgrimage." Next it increases in its volume
and its power, now rushing rapidly, now moving along in deep and
tranquil water, until it swells into a bold stream, coursing its way
over the shallows, dashing through the impeding rocks, descending in
rapids swift as thought, or pouring its boiling water over the cataract.
And thus does it vary its velocity, its appearance, and its course,
until it swells into a broad expanse, gradually checking its career as
it approaches, and at last mingles with the ocean of Eternity. I have
been led into this somewhat trite metaphor, to account to the reader for
the contents of this chapter. As in the river, after many miles of
chequered and boisterous career, you will find that its waters will for
some time flow in a smooth and tranquil course as almost to render you
unconscious of the never-ceasing stream; so in the life of man, after an
eventful and adventurous career, it will be found that for a time he is
permitted to glide gently and quietly along, as if a respite were given
to his feelings preparatory to fresh scenes of excitement. Such was the
case with me for some time. I had now been under Bramble's tuition for
more than a year and a half, and was consequently between fifteen and
sixteen years old. The years from 1800 to the end of 1804 were of this
description in my stream of life, unmarked by any peculiar or stirring
events worthy of occupying the attention of my readers. It is therefore
my intention, in this chapter, to play the part of the chorus in the old
plays, and sum up the events in few words, so as not to break the chain
of hi