would seat himself at the harpsichord; the boys, led by my father,
performed the vocal parts; and such feasts of sacred music were served
up to me, that I have breathed to my brother in an ecstatic whisper the
confession, "I don't want to see; I like music better than seeing."

That brother I have not before named; but that only brother was a second
self. Not that he resembled me in any respect, for he was beautiful to a
prodigy, and I an ordinary child; he was wholly free from any
predilection for learning, being mirthful and volatile in the highest
degree; and though he listened when I read to him the mysterious marvels
of my favorite nursery books, I doubt whether he ever bestowed an after-
thought on any thing therein contained. The brightest, the sweetest, the
most sparkling creature that ever lived, he was all joy, all love. I do
not remember to have seen him for one moment out of temper or out of
spirits for the first sixteen years of his life; and he was to me what
the natural sun is to the system. We were never separated; our studies,
our plays, our walks, our plans, our hearts were always one. That holy
band which the Lord has woven, that inestimable blessing of fraternal
love and confidence, was never broken, never loosened between us, from
the cradle to his grave; and God forbid that I should say or think that
the grave has broken it. If I have not from the outset included that
precious brother in my sketch, it was because I should almost as soon
have deemed it necessary to include by name my own head or my own heart.
He too was musical, and sang sweetly, and I cannot look back on my
childhood without confessing that its cup ran over with the profusion of
delights that my God poured into it.

About this time, when my sight, after a few months' privation, was fully
restored, I first imbibed the strength of Protestantism as deeply as it
can be imbibed apart from spiritual understanding, Norwich was