clergyman, my first instructor. Every well-remembered piece of furniture
is there. The chair, sacred to my sire, and venerated by me for its age,
and for our long intimacy. I have known it since first I knew myself.
The antique bookcase--the solid chest of drawers--the solemn sofa, all
substantial as ever, and looking, as at first, the immoveable and
natural properties of the domestic parlour. My mother has her eyes upon
me, and they are full of tears. My father and the minister are building
up my fortunes, are fixing in the sandy basis of futurity an edifice
formed of glittering words, incorporeal as the breath that rears it. And
the feelings of that hour come back upon me. I glow with animation,
confidence, and love. I have the strong delight that beats within the
bosom of the boy who has the parents' trusty smile for ever on him. I
dream of pouring happiness into those fond hearts--of growing up to be
their prop and staff in their decline. I pierce into the future, and
behold myself the esteemed and honoured amongst men--the patient,
well-rewarded scholar--the cherished and the cherisher of the dear
authors of my life--all brightness--all glory--all unsullied joy. The
child touches my wet cheek, and asks me why I weep?--why?--why? He knows
not of the early wreck that has annihilated the unhappy teacher's peace.

We were still engaged upon our lesson, when John Thompson interrupted
the proceeding, by entering the apartment in great haste, and placing in
my hands a newspaper. "He had been searching," he said, "for one whole
fortnight, to find a situation that would suit me, and now he thought
that he had hit upon it. There it was, 'a tutorer in a human family,' to
teach the languages and the sciences. Apply from two to four. It's just
three now. Send the youngster to his mother, and see after it, my
friend. I wouldn't have you lose it for the world." I took the journal
from his hands, and, as though placed there by the hand of the avenger
to arouse deeper remorse, to draw still hotter blood from the lacerated