young. Don't talk about your family, but act-act-act. A pretty tale should I have had to tell in America, when the French sloop was rounding a point in the Penobscot river, to take a position which must have given her the command of our station, if I had begun to snivel, What's to be done?' There she came with the tide, and we had just as much chance of stopping her, as you and I have of being obey ed if we were to cry, Halt! to the quick march of old Time. So, keeping a wood between her and our line of march, we took a fresh position, leaving her to amuse herself with the empty stockade; and-well-wellyou know the end-I won't bore you with an old story-we took herchanged the tables. It was a devilish -I beg your pardon, Doctor, it was a deuced-I mean a monstrous good joke, to see the fellows when we opened our fire upon them. Well well-the affair stands thus. Time is either your friend or your enemy. The fellow's never neutral, Doctormake him your friend, say I, and lose not a moment."

Some other advice our uncle gave concerning the arrangement of the Doctor's pecuniary affairs and expenditure, which shared the same fate as that we have related; for your practised "what's to be done" man hath ever some expedient for putting off his decision for a time; and the good man found it impossible to refuse his consent to Charles's accepting an invitation to spend a few days with the son of a neighboring gentleman, who had considerable influence in the county. These few days became weeks, because it would be long ere poor Charles would be again able to spare time for such enjoyments and then another invitation came from another friend, and was accepted, and prolonged for similar reasons. But, in the meanwhile, the Doctor was not idle. Oh no-he was busily employed, saying unto himself, "What's to be done?" and laboring hard to come to a decision. Did the Doctor imagine himself a hero, or philosopher, about to strike

out some new and undiscovered path to happiness, and that his mind was as a council to direct him in the unknown road, when it was incessantly ejaculating this querulous cry?

Whether he sate by the fireside, gazing upon the changing forms therein, or walked in his garden, with his hands in his breeches pockets, or hanging behind him, there ever came over his mind a thousand noble resolutions. And ten thousand goodly images and fairy prospects, of future happiness and greatness for his son, passed before the eyes of his enraptured imagination; and he identified himself, as he meant to be, and to act, in them all successively; but he had not yet decided on the exact course which he would pursue at the present moment. So he continued inquiring “What was to be done?" and persuading himself that he was winning his onward way to the realization of his splendid visions, ere he had taken a single step on his journey.

During this mental process of his father's to decide upon what was to be done with him, young Charles was doing his best to forget the small quantity of Latin and Greek which he had been compelled to learn at school, and acquiring tastes and habits in which it was but little likely that he would be able to indulge, in the event of "anything happening to his father," as the modern phrase for the termination of man's mortal career runs. And thus another year rolled round; and, as my uncle predicted, time, not hav ing been made their ally, had become their enemy, for Charles was less fit for college than at its commencement. Then the Doctor appeared to have girded himself with resolution, and was determined to begin, immediately after Christmas, to "read" steadily with his son.

In the meanwhile his daughter Emilia, whose personal charms were highly extolled by the "butterflies" of the day, received instructions in the showy accomplishments of music, dancing, and drawing, on which so much time is expended in youth, and

no one knows when or why. We had, in happier hours, penned up a glittering rill of the pure element which issued from a spring above the house, and after supplying the wants of the inmates, made its rustling way over a narrow pebbly bed to that spot which we had chosen for our waterfall. Never shall we forget the triumphant delight with which we, after almost a fortnight's toil, heaping up stones and "puddling" clay, sate down to watch the rising of the sparkling water. It seemed a long time ere the element had attained the brink of our barrier. Then we gazed thereon most intensely; and our cup overflowed with joy when the first trickling came down to the rocky basin we had formed beneath. And, anon, we beheld the falling element swell into picturesque beauty. The spot which, an hour before, had been nothing more than a hole in the earth, dark, damp, and dismal, was now all life, and motion, and beauty; and a cheerful melody came forth from its depths-and all appeared to be the work of our own hands. The Blandusian fount could not have been half so clear. There might be a greater fall, we allowed, at Tivoli; but then it could not be more romantic; and as for the cataracts and plunges of the Niagara, Nile, and Rhine, it was allowed generally that they were terrific rather than beautiful. But in ours there was nothing alarming, the main fall being precisely four feet three inches. There we might sit and read, or muse in security-and not we alone, but, in after times-oh yes, even then we had strange dreams respecting the future; and when we left that great work of our own hands on the first night of its completion, we inwardly and proudly breathed," Exegi monumentum !"

This wonderful performance was achieved in the thirteenth year of our age, by and with the aid of Corporal Inglis; and, on the morning after its completion, our uncle, who, during its progress, had kept aloof, from a high notion of honor that he might not rob us of our laurels, walked with us,

hand in hand, to the spot, to see and approve. We revealed then to him our intention of planting a willow, and of framing a rustic seat, &c. &c. and he forthwith put his hand into his pocket, and gave us a convincing proof of the high estimation in which he held our abilities; and then he bestowed upon us some good advice, which we did not then value mayhap quite so much as we ought, but which we have often thought of, and, we hope, derived benefit from since. The main purport thereof was to impress upon our mind that happiness was the result of employment.

Use

"Never be without a task of some sort, boy," said the Colonel: "let it be useful, if possible; but, at all events, let it be harmless. The mind and body both require exercise. them, work them both, boy. They'll both get stronger, and make you a man soon r," (this was then a proud inducement,) "and a happier man. Habit is second nature. The habit of thinking and acting for yourself, sir," (the appellation "Sir" always indicated that our uncle was getting upon military ground,) "will produce decision of character, without which a man cannot be fit for any command. There is scarcely any sort of knowledge that may not be useful to a soldier. Perhaps this little work of yours may lead you to look into the nature of the channels of rivers, a matter of no small consequence sometimes in a campaign. But, at all events, one employment or one acquirement always paves the way for another, and enables a man to feel an interest in something or everything that is going on around him. And then he stands a fair chance of promotion and happiness; and there's little risk of his being reduced to the rank of those poor devils, who saunter about with their hands in their pockets, looking confoundedly stupid, blinking and winking, and yawning, "What's to be done?"

Between this period and that of our going forth into the world, five years had glided by; and, during their pro

gress, we had framed the rustic seat, and planted the willow, and studied and read for many an hour beneath its shade; and we had never felt at a loss about "What was to be done," save upon one subject. That subject was utterly incomprehensible to us. It was a strange and intense internal commotion with which we were ever affected whenever we saw a certain young lady, or even when her name was mentioned. We felt that we should have been delighted to make her a present of every description of property we had, and of ourselves into the bargain; and, doubtless, had an opportunity presented itself, we should have decided the matter by throwing "the lot" at her feet. But the Colonel was a widower; and Maria had a mother, and brothers and sisters; and, moreover, was somewhat elevated above us in society: consequently we met but seldom ; and then amid scenes of humdrum formality. So we knew not what was to be done. This was the first secret we ever kept from the Colonel, and an irksome one it was: but we could not tell him. Once or twice we had resolved so to do, but her name "hung fire," as the corporal would have said, upon our lips. Therefore, on the day before our departure, we magnanimously resolved, that, if we could not suppress, we would conceal the state of our feelings, and endeavor, as soon as we got into "the world," to do something which might prove us to be worthy of the high aspirings of our soul.

It was at this crisis that we first committed the sin of rhyming at length.

any

The next morning we accompanied our uncle to London; and looked about us, and went into company; and saw such sights, and did such things, as all the people in "the world" have been seeing and doing there ever since, up to the present moment. We then proceeded to the Netherlands, and visited, and minutely inspected, all the fortresses and fields connected with Marlborough's campaigns. The delight and pride which the Colonel

evinced in that progress we shall never forget. The days of his youth seemed to have returned upon him his step was as the tread of a giant; and the hours we spent on horseback and on foot were unconscionable. But we feel the recollection of those days so strong upon us, that we will not trust our pen further-we remember that we are not now writing either his life or our own. Suffice it to say, that our wanderings far and wide upon the Continent occupied the space of three years; and then we once more found ourselves at home.

During our absence, poor Mrs. Smithers had been gathered to her fathers. Her death was a sore bereavement for the poor Doctor.

The plan of steadily reading Latin and Greek with his son Charles, which the Doctor had resolved upon, was necessarily procrastinated from time to time during his mother's illness; and, after her death, the worthy widower's mind was certainly, for a considerable period, in a state very unfit for such an undertaking. Another year had thus slipt by, and then the long-talked of course of study was commenced, and the Doctor discovered, with no small dismay, that Charles had retrograded sadly in his learning; insomuch as that they were obliged to retrace, with toil and difficulty, the path which, two years back, had been comparatively easy. Let it not be supposed that this achievement was well performed; no-your "What's to be done?" man cannot long persevere in any one plan; he is ever wearily shifting his ground. The books were continually changed— sometimes a week passed without any reading; and that ruinous day, "tomorrow,' was continually presenting itself as more fit for the surmounting of difficulties than that which was at the moment winging its way into the past.

Another year had thus gone by, and Charles had imperceptibly stepped into inanhood without being even entered at college; and then the question of, "What's to be done?" an

noyed the Doctor on a subject that wounded his feelings excessively. He had made a discovery, which at first he was unwilling to acknowledge, though somewhat similar hath occurred to many a fair scholar. He found that time, "edax rerum," had marvellous y rusted his Greek and Latin. He could not discern the beauties of Sophocles; and there was a sad indistinctness in many parts of Herodotus. "What was to be done?" Cicero himself was obscure, though certainly his style appeared as beautiful as ever. Virgil had ever been his favorite, because of the aptitude of that author for quotation, in which the worthy Rector loved to indulge. Consequently he had frequently dipped therein, and might be said to be nearly "up" in the Eneid. So, for the next six months, they employed themselves re-reading that beautiful poem, with a book or two of the New Testament, by way of variety. The Doctor, however, knew too well how little he was doing for his son, not to feel at times exceedingly uneasy. But he could not decide upon "What was to be done?" Now, as he was by no means what is commonly termed a fool, notwithstanding the apparent folly of his conduct, it is proper here to state, that he had long since discovered that his income was not proportioned to the style of living which he had deemed necessary to adopt when his clerical honors had been conferred on him. His parties were not frequent, nor was there any manifest extravagance in his habits. But there had ever been a lack of system in all his domestic arrangements; and since the death of his wife, matters appeared to be worse managed than before; and there seemed but little chance of amendment, for his daughter Emilia, with whom he consulted on the subject, was utterly ignorant of all household concerns, and candidly confessed she did not know "What was to be done?" So the decision rested with himself; and he gloomily pored over his Christmas bills, wondering how

it was that they could amount to so much, and resolving to reduce his expenses, if not his establishment, but could not decide on the precise step most proper to be taken for the effecting of so desirable a purpose; and was consequently content, for the present, to dwell over the old mental inquiry.

Thus much it was necessary to say, in order to account for his not having adopted the plain straightforward course of sending Charles to some one of the numerous respectable young clergymen, fresh from their reading, who would have been happy to receive him as a companion, to cheer and employ their time in the retirement of a country village. There was, however, another plan which appeared likely to answer the purpose quite as well, and would not interfere with his domestic arrangements; and that was, to engage the son of an old friend, whose widowed mother had contrived to economize so well for many years, as to be enabled to send him to Oxford, where he was at this period "reading for his degree." Therefore young Blackwell came to the Rectory; and, after a visit of some few weeks during the vacation, it was settled that he should consider himself as one of the family, and return and take up his abode with them immediately after his "great go." As the young man was thus secure of a title for orders from the Doctor when he should attain the age of three-andtwenty, besides other "considerations," the arrangement seemed perfectly to the taste of all parties. good Rector was particularly delighted: for, during his late inquiries about "What was to be done?" he had been harassed with a sad conviction that it was absolutely necessary to do something in order to reduce his expenditure. Yet he could not part with his old servant Peter, because Thomas, the boy, was fit only to wait at table, and do indoor work, and knew nothing about the garden; and there was not a better manager in the county than his cook; and as for parting with Martha, who had been

The