brother. But there remained an object of his former contempt, now
become even detestable to him; ungrateful man. The very agent of
his elevation was now so odious to him, that he could not cast his
eyes upon the friendly violin without instant emotions of disgust.

In vain would Henry, at times, endeavour to subdue his haughtiness
by a tune on this wonderful machine. "You know I have no ear,"
William would sternly say, in recompense for one of Henry's best
solos. Yet was William enraged at Henry's answer, when, after
taking him to hear him preach, he asked him, "how he liked his
sermon," and Henry modestly replied (in the technical phrase of his
profession), "You know, brother, I have no ear."

Henry's renown in his profession daily increased; and, with his
fame, his friends. Possessing the virtues of humility and charity
far above William, who was the professed teacher of those virtues,
his reverend brother's disrespect for his vocation never once made
him relax for a moment in his anxiety to gain him advancement in the
Church. In the course of a few years, and in consequence of many
fortuitous circumstances, he had the gratification of procuring for
him the appointment to a deanery; and thus at once placed between
them an insurmountable barrier to all friendship, that was not the
effect of condescension on the part of the dean.

William would now begin seriously to remonstrate with his brother
"upon his useless occupation," and would intimate "the degradation
it was to him to hear his frivolous talent spoken of in all
companies." Henry believed his brother to be much wiser than
himself, and suffered shame that he was not more worthy of such a
relation. To console himself for the familiar friend, whom he now