and devoutly repeat his favourite lines of Thom

son,

"These are thy glorious works, Almighty Father! These are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing spring Thy beauty walks-thy tenderness and love." Young and heedless as I was, I recollect one of his thoughts, which he uttered with peculiar feeling, and its singularity fastened it firmly on my memory. He held a flower in his hand-it was finely pencilled, and delicately formed-he had gathered it in an unfrequented spot. He repeated the well-known lines of Gray

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

and then pausing and examining it with a prying eye, "I often think," said he, "that not one of these flowers is made in vain, and that the Creator, looking over all his vast range of creation, minutely examines and admires the beauties that proceed from the work of his fingers." Even then I thought I saw the Deity examining the delicate texture of the flower, as my uncle held it up, but my yet uncultivated mind, though it felt something of the thought, was far from thoroughly perceiving it. My father, to whom the observation was made, also partly destroyed the

charm, by replying, in a few seconds, with a loud laugh-" Well, Tom, thee hast refined notions for a Florist and a Poet, to be sure, to talk of God Almighty having fingers." My uncle looked grave, "Brother," said he, "the thought is not mine, it was given by Divine inspiration;" you will find it in the eighth Psalm-' When I consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers' "-my father always bowed respectfully to Revelation. I never saw him blush before, but he did then, and my uncle was satisfied with his victory. I must here add, that my uncle knew also the medicinal virtues of many a plant, better than any old lady in the parish. While I was trundling my hoop, playing at battledore and shuttlecock, or beating my drum, Charles was to be seen by his uncle's side inquiring about the varieties of flowers that adorned the garden, gathering a nosegay, or assisting in eradicating the weeds. Thus my brother's mind and that of my uncle mingled together like two kindred streams gently flowing in one common channel.

My infant heart felt none of the jealousy which often poisons the happiness of more mature years, and so my uncle had an undisputed monopoly of Charles; but as my uncle was always accompanied by Charles, my father, in like manner, was always accompanied by myself. My

father never took a gun in his hand but I was by his side, and he was pleased to call me his Fidus Achates. I would ramble with him for many an hour, and at an early age endured fatigue like a little Hercules. All this he admired, and as a reward for my services, I was never without a gun myself, as handsome as the toy-shop could furnish. My father was fond of seeing the exercise of the volunteers, then in vogue, and there, too, I accompanied him with inexpressible joy. On my return home, my wooden gun was shouldered, my exercise gone through, and every evolution recollected and imitated. My father sat and enjoyed the mimicry, and sometimes gave the word of command. "Thee wilt make a fine soldier, my boy," he was wont to say, his eyes at the same time glancing fire. My uncle one day heard the remark, and said, "But, brother, you would not like to make a soldier of him?" My father started from his seat, and with the greatest ardour exclaimed, "The Briton is not worthy of a son, that would not swear him, like Hannibal, on the altar of his country." Then looking with inexpressible delight upon me, he exclaimed, "I see in that boy's eye a second Marlborough. Depend upon it he will gain immortal honour, and shine some day illus triously as the most distinguished member of our

family, and our arms will be quartered with the insignia of the brave!" I felt my bosom beat high with expectation; my little heart was not insensible to the eulogium, and throwing down my gun, which I was then shouldering, I seized my drum, threw the string round my neck, and tucking his cane under my arm,'on which I hung my red handkerchief as a flag, and carrying it perpendicularly, close to my shoulder, I left my hands at liberty to sound the rub-a-dub-dub, and marched away with as much importance as was perhaps ever felt by the great Cæsar himself. How much do we acquire by imitation. Early example is every thing. "Train up a child in the

Solomon wisely said, way he should go, and

when he is old he will not depart from it." The same writer says, "The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened in a sure place." My father's words, in like manner, stuck fast on my memory, as do all words impressed early on the plastic tablet of the mind, whether good or bad.

I must here also, mention several other little incidents which occurred at this period, and which help further to show the "form and pressure" of my father's character. I remember a curious discussion between him and my uncle, on the merits of a sermon preached at our parish

church. The text was, 1 Sam. xviii. 17. "Only be thou valiant for me, and fight the Lord's battles." Texts often fix themselves durably in the memory, and this did so with me, not only as the sermon occasioned rather a warm dispute between my father and uncle, but every paragraph of the preacher ended with" Only be thou valiant and fight the Lord's battles." It was a sermon preached before the volunteers. I was the more interested in it, as the preacher drew a most alarming picture of the power and designs of the enemy, so that with all my soldier-like propensities, my hair assumed somewhat of the form of "quills upon the fretful porcupine;" and indeed half the women and children in the parish expected soon to hear the sound of the enemy's cannon, from his threatened invasion. We had no sooner returned from church, than my father began in "good set terms" to eulogise the preacher, while my uncle said his cushion was no better than "

a drum ecclesiastic." My uncle was always averse to the practice of war, and my father on such occasions was used to call him Quaker. Well, Quaker," said he, "I believe with all your fine flourishing and fanciful sentiments, it will be long before you can preach such a sermon." "I hope, if ever I am a parson," said my uncle,