for him to choose.

SELECTIONS FROM THE FAIR HAVEN.

MEMOIR OF THE LATE JOHN PICKARD OWEN. (CHAPTER I. OF THE FAIR HAVEN.)
{48}

The subject of this memoir, and author of the work which follows it, was
born in Goodge Street, Tottenham Court Road, London, on the 5th of
February 1832. He was my elder brother by about eighteen months. Our
father and mother had once been rich, but through a succession of
unavoidable misfortunes they were left with but a slender income when my
brother and myself were about three and four years old. My father died
some five or six years afterwards, and we only recollected him as a
singularly gentle and humorous playmate who doted upon us both and never
spoke unkindly.

The charm of such a recollection can never be dispelled; both my brother
and myself returned his love with interest, and cherished his memory with
the most affectionate regret, from the day on which he left us till the
time came that the one of us was again to see him face to face. So sweet
and winning was his nature that his slightest wish was our law--and
whenever we pleased him, no matter how little, he never failed to thank
us as though we had done him a service which we should have had a perfect
right to withhold. How proud were we upon any of these occasions, and
how we courted the opportunity of being thanked! He did indeed well know
the art of becoming idolised by his children, and dearly did he prize the
results of his own proficiency; yet truly there was no art about it; all
arose spontaneously from the well-spring of a sympathetic nature which
was quick to feel as others felt, whether old or young, rich or poor,
wise or foolish. On one point alone did he neglect us--I refer to our
religious education. On all other matters he was the kindest and most
careful teacher in the world. Love and gratitude be to his memory!

My mother loved us no less ardently than my father, but she was of a
quicker temper, and less adept at conciliating affection. She must have
been exceedingly handsome when she was young, and was still comely when
we first remembered her; she was also highly accomplished, but she felt
my father's loss of fortune more keenly than my father himself, and it
preyed upon her mind, though rather for our sake than for her own. Had
we not known my father we should have loved her better than any one in
the world, but affection goes by comparison, and my father spoiled us for
any one but