pleasure to my union with
Julia; and a distant day was fixed for the marriage, to enable my
brother Henry to be present. He had been abroad for some time in the
merchant service, and his constant employment had prevented his visiting
home for many years; but he had written to say that he expected now to
have a long holiday with us. At length he returned, and great was my
joy at meeting my beloved brother once more. He was a fine, handsome,
manly-looking fellow--frank and boisterous in his manner, kind and
generous in his disposition, but the slave of passion and impulse. In
a week after his return, he became dull and reserved, and every one
remarked the extraordinary change that had come over him. My father and
I both thought that our quiet and monotonous life wearied and disgusted
him, and that he longed for the more bustling scenes to which he had
been accustomed. "Come, Harry!" said I to him one day, "cheer up, my
boy! we shall be merry enough soon: you must lay in a fresh stock of
spirits; Julia will quarrel with you if you show such a melancholy phiz
at our wedding." He turned from me with impatience, and, rushing out
into the garden, I saw no more of him that day. I was hurt and surprised
by his manner, and hastened to express my annoyance to Julia. She
received me with less than her usual warmth, blushed when I talked of my
brother, and soon left me on some trifling pretext. My father had gone
to visit a neighbouring clergyman, at whose house he was taken suddenly
and alarmingly ill. I hastened to his bedside, and found him in such a
precarious state, that I determined upon remaining near him. I therefore
despatched a messenger to Julia, informing her of my intention, and
intimating that it would be necessary to postpone our marriage, which
was to have taken place in the course of a week, until my father's
recovery. In answer to my letter, I received a short and hurried reply,
merely acquiescing in the propriety of my movements, and without any
expression of regret at my lengthened absence. Surprised at the
infrequency and too apparent indifference of Julia's answers to the long
and impassioned letters which I almost daily wrote to her, alarmed at
the long interval which had elapsed since I last heard from her, and
fearing that illness might have occasioned her silence, I left my
father, who was rapidly recovering, and hastened home. When I arrived at
the parsonage, I walked into the drawing-room; but as neither J