whom "we had received his heart and given him back our own --such a friendship as the most fortunate and the most happyand at that time we were bōth-are sometimes permitted by Providence, with all the passionate devotion of young and untamed imagination, to enjoy, during a bright dreamy world of which that friendship is as the polar star.

3. Emilius Godfrey! forever holy be the name! a boy when we were but a child-when we were but a youth, a man. We felt stronger in the shadow of his arm-happier, bolder, better in the light of his countenance. He was the protector-the guardian of our moral being. In our pastimes we bounded with wilder glee-at our studies we sat with intenser earnèstnèss, by his side. He it was that taught us how to feel all those glorious sunsets, and imbued our young spirit with the love and worship of nature. He it was that taught us to feel that our evening prayer was no idle ceremony to be hastily gone through-that we might lay down our head on the pillow, then soon smoothed in sleep—but a command of God, which a response from nature summoned the humble heart to obey.

4. He it was who forever had at command, wit for the spōrtive, wisdom for the serious hour. Fun and frolic flowed in the měrry music of his lips-they lightened from the gay glancing of his eyes-and then all at once, when the one changed its measures, and the other gathered, as it were, a mist or a cloud, an answering sympathy chained our own tongue, and darkened our own countenance, in intercommunion of spirit felt to be, indeed, divine!

5. It seemed as if we knew but the words of language--that he was a scholar who saw into their very essence. The books we read together were, èvèry page, and every sentence of every page, all covered over with light. Where his eye fell not as we read, all was dim or dark, unintelligible, or with imperfect meanings. Whether we perused' with him a volume writ by a nature like our own, or the volume of the earth and the sky, or the volume revealed from Heaven, next day we always knew and felt that something had been added to our being.

6. Thus imperceptibly' we grew up in our intellectual stature,

1 Perused (pe rôzd'), read with attention.

2 Im`per cep' ti bly, in a manner not to be perceived or observed.

breathing a purer moral and religious air; with all our finer affections toward other human beings, all our kindred and our kind, touched with a dearer domestic tenderness, or with a sweet benevolence that seemed to our ardent fancy to embrace the dwellers in the uttermost regions of the earth. No secret of pleasure or pain-of joy or grief-of fear or hope-had our heart to withhold or conceal from Emilius Godfrey. He saw it as it beat within our bosom, with all its imperfections-may we venture to say, with all its virtues.

7. A repented folly-a confessed fault-a sin for which we were truly contrite-a vice flung from us with loathing' and with shame-in such moods as these, happier were we to see his serious and his solemn smile than when in mirth and mĕrriment we sat by his side, in the social hour, on a knōll in the open sunshine. And the whole school were in ecstasies to hear tales and stōries from his genius; even like a flock of birds, chirping in their joy, all newly alighted in a vernal3 land.

8. In spite of that difference in our age-or oh! say rather because that věry difference did touch the one heart with tendernèss, and the other with reverence; how often did we two wander, like elder and younger brother, in the sunlight and the moonlight solitudes! Woods into whose inmost recesses we should have quaked alone to penetrate, in his company were glad as gardens, through their most awful umbrage; and there was beauty in the shadows of the old oaks. Cataracts-in whose lonesome thunder, as it pealed into those pitchy pools, we durst not, by ourselves, have faced the spray-in his presence, dinned with a merry music in the desert, and cheerful was the thin mist they cast sparkling up into the air.

9. Too severe for our unaccompanied spirit, then easily overcome with awe, was the solitude of those remote inland lochs. But as we walked with him along the winding shores, how passing sweet the calm of both blue depths-how magnificent the white-crested waves, tumbling beneath the black thunder-cloud! Mōre beautiful, because our eyes gazed on it along with his, at the beginning or the ending of some sudden storm, the Appari

1 Con' trite, sorrowful; bowed down with grief.

2 Loath' ing, very great disgust.

3 Ver'nal, belonging to the spring; appearing in spring; hence, belong ing to youth, the spring of life.

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tion of the Rainbow. Grander in its wildness, that seemed to sweep at once all the swinging and stooping woods to our ear, because his too listened, the concert by winds and waves played at midnight when not one star was in the sky.

W

II.

6. YOUTHFUL FRIENDSHIP.

PART SECOND.

WITH Emilius Godfrey we first followed the falcon' in her flight-he showed us on the Echo-cliff the eagle's eyry." To the thicket he led us, where lay couched the lovely-spotted doe, or showed us the mild-eyed creature browsing on the glade with her two fawns at her side. But for him we should not then have seen the antlers of the red-deer, for the forèst was indeed a most savage place, and haunted-such was the superstition at which those who scorned it trembled-haunted by the ghost of a huntsman whom a jealous rival had murdered as he stooped, after the chase, at a little mountain well that ever since oozed out blood.

2. What converse passed between us two in all those still shadowy solitudes! Into what depths of human nature did he teach our wondering eyes to look down! Oh! what was to become of us, we sometimes thought in sădnèss that all at once made our spirits sink-like a lark falling suddenly to earth, struck by the fear of some unwonted' shadow from above-what was to become of us when the mandate should arrive for him to leave the Manse forever, and sail away in a ship to Indiä never more to return! Ever as that dreaded day drew nearer, more frequent was the haze in our eyes; and in our blindness we knew not that such tears ought to have been far mōre rueful° still, for that he then lay under orders for a longer and more

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lamentable' voyage-a voyage over a narrow strait to the eternal shōre.

3. All-all at once he drooped: on one fatal morning the dread decay began-with no forewarning, the springs on which his being had so lightly, so proudly, so grandly moved-gave way. Between one sabbath and another his bright eyes darkened-and while all the people were assembled at the săcrament, the soul of Emilius Godfrey soared up to heaven. It was indeed a dreadful death; serene and saintèd though it were-and not a hall-not a house-not a hut-not a sheeling within all the circle of those wide mountains, that did not, on that night, mōurn as if it had lost a son.

4. All the vast parish attended his funèral-Lowlanders and Highlanders, in their own garb of grief. And have time and tempest now blackened the white marble of that monument-is that inscription now hard to be read-the name of Emilius Godfrey in green obliteration-nor haply one surviving who ever saw the light of the countenance of him there interred! Forgotten, as if he had never been! for few were that glorious orphan's kindred--and they lived in a foreign land-forgotten but by one heart; faithful through all the chances and changes of this restlèss world! And therein inshrined, amongst all its holiëst remembrances, shall be the image of Emilius Godfrey, till it too, like his, shall be but dust and ashes.

5. Oh! blame not boys for so soon forgetting one another in absence or in death. Yět forgetting is not just the word; call it rather a reconciliation to doom and destiny-in thus obeying a benign law of nature that soon streams sunshine over the shadows of the grave. Not otherwise could all the ongoings of this world be continued. The nascent' spirit outgrows much in which it once found all delight; and thoughts delightful still, thoughts of the faces and the voices of the dead, perish not, lying sometimes in slumber-sometimes in sleep.

6. It belongs not to the blessed season and genius of youth to hug to its heart uselèss and unavailing griefs. Images of the

1 Lăm' ent a ble, fitted to cause grief or weeping; sorrowful.

2 Sheel' ing, a hut or small cottage, such as is used by shepherds

in the field, or by fishermen upon the shore.

3 Năs' cent, beginning to exist or to grow.

well-beloved, when they themselves are in the mold, come and go, no unfrequent visitants, through the meditative hush of solitude. But our main business-our prime joys and our prime sorrows ought to be-must be with the living. Duty demands it; and love, who would pine to death over the bones of the dead, soon fastens upon other objects with eyes and voices to smile and whisper an answer to all his vows.

7. So was it with us. Ere the midsummer sun had withered the flowers that spring had sprinkled over our Godfrey's grave, youth vindicated its own right to happiness; and we felt that we did wrong to visit, too often, that corner of the kirkyard. No fears had we of any too oblivious tendencies; in our dreams we saw him-most often all alive as ever-sometimes a phantom away from that grave! If the morning light was frequently hard to be endured, bursting suddenly upon us ǎlong with the feeling that he was dead, it more frequently cheered and gladdened us with resignation, and sent us fōrth a fit playmate to the dawn that rang with all sounds of joy. Again we found ourselves angling down the river, or along the loch-once more following the flight of the falcon along the woods-eyeing the eagle on the Echo-cliff.

8. Days passed by, without so much as one thought of Emilius Godfrey-pursuing our pastime with all our passion, reading our books intently--just as if he had never been! But Ŏften, and often too, we thought we saw his figure coming down the hill straight toward us-his věry figure—we could not be deceivedbut the love-raised ghost disappeared on a sudden-the griefwoven spectre melted into the mist.

9. The strength that formerly had come from his counsels, now began to grow up of itself within our own unassisted being. The world of nature became more our own, molded and modified by all our own feelings and fancies; and with a bolder and more original eye we saw the smoke from the sprinkled cottages, and saw the faces of the mountaineers on their way to their work, or coming and going to the house of God. WILSON.

JOHN WILSON, a Scottish author, was born in Paisley, May 19, 1785. The son of a wealthy manufacturer, at an early age he was placed under the charge of a clergyman in the highlands, who regulated his studies, as well as wisely encouraged him to devote himself to vigorous out-of-door sports. He became a remarkably robust, athletic man, with great bodily and mental energies. At 15 years of age he entered the university of