well as right, to you—Only—remember one thing— never dispose of my books—burn them first I have now but to give you some little advice—my son—relative to your conduct—as-as a man—and a Christian; and then, I shall be done with all earthly concern,-and be ready for the last offices of our blessed religion, my peace is already made with God.—Jeremy, my son— God has been pleased to bestow upon you—affluence,— see that you use it properly l—But my books, Jeremy, don't you sell them—if you would wish that the earth— should lie light upon me—And, by the by, Jeremy, do you hear, boy?—I’ll tell you something for your own tombstone, about the earth's being light. Put upon it— like a true Roman— S. T. T. L. Sit tibi terra Levis— ha, ha, ha! Oh, your clothes—your clothes! take them away"—take them away, I tell you! Sit tibi terra Levis—that’s an excellent pun—I never knew I could make one before—row Nuév' sigov—don't burn my books, Jeremy' I won't bless you if—if you—do—do— terra Levis—” His voice was no longer distinct; but he seemed to mutter something. I laid him on his back. His eyes stared with a savage expression, and something seemed to give them pain; for he frequently passed his hands before them, as though to shut out the object. He then began to pick the bed-clothes—a convulsive tremour agitated his features—he became insensible. In this awful situation—a father stretched in a dying state before me, and nome to help him (for the village doctor was worse than useless)—I had need of all my strength of mind to support me. In about three hours the sufferer awoke from his stupor; but his mind was utterly gone. He fixed his eyes upon some object on the wall; but there was no expression in them. Suddenly he writhed in agony, apparently the most excruciating, and opened his mouth and gasped for breath, while a hollow murmuring sound issued from the throat; then, by an effort .'of momentary strength, he released himself from my arms, threw off the clothes, at. tempted to spring from the bed, and fell back upon his pillow a corse. CHAPTER XXXVI. He is dead and gone, lady,' He is dead and gone; At his heels a stone. Ophelia.'! Sang—in lla-nlc: The funeral of my father was most numerously attended, as well by the gentlemen of the neighbouring villas, as by the villagers, and I then learned for the first time the real importance of wealth; for, with the exception of a few of the older people, every one treated me with vast respect. Some of my former enemies were even fawning; and none more so than Mrs. Maline, who, urged by the curiosity which is so powerful on such occasions in every body, and especially in women, was present, with some other gossips, to see the dead carried from the house. She came up to me as I was passing through the hall, and begged that we might be reconciled. I bowed coldly, remarking, "I should say, madam, this is a very unseasonable time for such explanations." "O! but I assure you," she rejoined, "I've entirely forgotten the cradle business. Indeed, Mr. Levis, husband and I often laugh at it—it was such a pretty present!" "Certainly, ma'm," said I, "so very appropriate." This was a cruel cut; but she richly deserved it. It is singular that people will not know when their merits are duly rewarded; —Mrs. Maline left me in a fury, and was so ungrateful as to spread, through the whole village, the vilest reports to my disadvantage! There are two eras in our lives, dear Reader, when we are always certain of a good character;—to wit—when we marry, and when we die. After seeing the earth close above the body of my only parent, I had separated myself from the many that would have obtruded their odious consolations upon me, and was returning wrapped in the melancholy reflections which could not but be suggested by the extraordinary succession of the deaths of a mother, a friend, an uncle, that uncle's wife, and a fa. ther, all within six weeks, when I found myself behind a party of four men, who were slowly walking—their hands behind them, and heads bent upon their chests—and, as they walked, conversing upon the character of their late pastor. "True !" said the man on the right, assenting to some observation,—" he was a most worthy character." "O, an excellent man!" responded the next. "And so charitable !" rejoined the next. "And so good tempered!" added the man to the left. "And then so true a Christian!" said the first speaker, raising his head. "And above all so forgiving!" exclaimed the second, drawing his right hand from behind him. "He pardoned that wicked son of his the moment he saw him." "O!" cried the third—drawing his left hand from be. bind him—" The chambermaid told our Sarah, and she told my wife, and my wife told me, that Mr. Jeremy was too great a gentleman to ask his father's forgiveness, and so he made the old man get on his knees and beg for his! —He's the greatest little rascal I ever heard of." "Why sir, that's nothing to what I can tell you!" screamed the fourth—drawing both hands from behind him, and striking the back of one upon the palm of the other, and turning short upon the last speaker—" Mrs. Maline, her own self, sir, told me that the wretch was drunk this very afternoon, while his father lay in the coffin before him—and that, when she reproved him for his conduct, he laughed in her face, told her it was very appropriate, and insulted her in the grossest manner! Think of that, sir!" added the gentleman with an air of triumph. My delicacy would not suffer me to listen any longer in so covert a manner; so i coughed. The party turned, and joined me with the utmost composure. "Ah!" sighed the first man, "you have met with a great affliction, Mr. Levis!" "A very great affliction, Mr. Levis!" mournfully echoed the second. "Alas! it is so to all of us!" tenderly bleated the third, "But you must console yourself, my young friend." "And continue," soothingly added the fourth, "to imitate your father's virtues, my dear young friend." "Gentlemen," said I, bowing very low, "I am too drunk at present to talk with you."—And I left them. Certainly, we are a very amiable world. i CHAPTER XXXVII. To spend tbe clave with merry cheare, To drink..' and revell every night, It was, I ween, his beart.s deligbt. Heir of I.i".n Need I tell you, Reader, the usual moderation a young man displays under sudden good-fortune? Need I tell you how little regard he pays to the kind warnings of even the truest and the wisest of his friends? Need I say to you, that the tempted of Pleasure may get by heart all the thousand stories that are written of the dangers of riotous indulgence, and yet be not one whit the better for them, except his passions be fenced around with a double hedge of prudence, or he be guarded against the inroads of the enemy by the very bleakness of the land she is expected to ravage—? Surely not! For, look around you—here, and here,—and here, and here, and you will find youth every where the same—each pursuing some phantom of pleasure, which still mocks him as lie flies, yet still looks back and nods for him to follow. Nor does genius, nor education, save him from the witchery of the game ; for the phantom is ever in sight, and suffers not Despair to cool his ardour and give time for Reflection to advance. Since thus it is, and thus it ever has been—since the wisest and the best grow dizzy, when Fortune turns her wheel and mounts their spoke the topmost—you will not be surprised that one, of my education and temperament, should become absolutely light-headed at his sudden elevation. By nature gay and fond of pleasure, accustomed from my earliest day to look upon my own wanton wishes |