whom I parted
so many years ago. You know not how happy I am in finding the daughter
of my dear brother."

I could trace in the features of my uncle Charles a resemblance to my
dear father; but, as my father had died while quite a young man, the
resemblance, at my uncle's time of life, was less striking than
otherwise it might have been.

My uncle Charles was now sixty-five years old; but travel and exposure
caused him to look much older than he really was. He informed me that he
had first visited Philadelphia with the hope of finding my father; and,
when he learned that my father and mother were both dead, he next
enquired if they left any children? He learned that they left one
daughter, who had resided for some time in the family of the Leightons,
as governess; but had left Philadelphia three years since. He next
sought out the Leightons, hoping to learn my residence; but they of
course could give him no information upon the subject. They directed him
to Mrs. Burnside, who at first was reluctant to give the information he
sought; but, when he informed her of the relationship I bore to him, she
directed him to my uncle Wayland, in New Hampshire, at whose residence
he arrived one week previous to my return from Massachusetts. He soon
after gave us the following brief account of his life, since he left
Philadelphia, when a boy, which I reserve for the succeeding chapter of
my story.

CHAPTER XIX.

UNCLE CHARLES.

My uncle began his story as follows:--

"When I left Philadelphia, I had no definite object in view. I left
without seeing my brother, to avoid the pain of parting, for we tenderly
loved each other. His disposition and mine were widely different; he was
quiet, industrious, and very persevering in whatever he undertook; while
I, on the other hand, was rash, impulsive, and very impatient of
restraint. My adopted father apprenticed me to learn the art of
printing, without in the least consulting my wishes in the matter. It
seemed to me that he might have granted me the privilege of choosing my
employment; and, his failing to do so roused my indignation and doubled
the dislike I already felt to the occupation of a printer. It was very
hard for me to leave without seeing my brother; but I decided that, as
he was very well contented in his situation, I had best go away quietly,
so that, whatever might befall me, I should not be the means of bringing
trouble to him. I had decided to leave my master the