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In the way we have already described, the boy spent most of his time in the open air and in active exertions, obtaining strength of limb and constitution, with freedom of carriage and almost unequalled activity; but though his features were fine and his complexion pure and glowing, no stranger could have seen him, even for a moment, without perceiving that something was very wrong within. Probably he might have been improved; and, indeed, he had improved whilst Horace was with him he had then acquired some ideas, and had so far advanced in reading English, that he could read the Scriptures aloud to his friend, when that friend was too weak to hold the book. But as no one, after he had lost that friend, could be found, for several years, willing to bear with his monotonous, unconnected, abrupt style, and his perpetual references to what master Horace had said, and what master Horace had told him, he was often condemned entirely to the society of Cæsar, and to learn no other lessons and acquire no other information but what he picked up by watching the natural inhabitants of the woods, or the adjacent fields, or of the farm and poultry yard, not one of his own fellowcreatures then having the least idea of the sweet things which he could have told them, would they have tolerated his general peroration" When master Horace lived here, he told me so and so."

In the mean time, no children were granted to the ambitious desires of Mr. and Mrs. Rokeby, although their wishes had been strengthened by the fact that Mr. Rokeby's elder brother, a baronet, had only daughters. At length, when Jocelyn was become a tall long-limbed boy, hopes were given of a young Rokeby, a grandson of Mr. Barwell's. But unhappily, (as Jocelyn himself might have said) when the son was born, he proved to be a daughter. Both parents were disappointed, and poor little Barbara, for such was the name given to the babe, was put out to be nursed by a kindly cottager of superior order, living in a lodge which opened its gates from the most remote and retired part of the park, into a wood of some extent, belonging to the property.

Whether Jocelyn did or did not think it very unkind in his sister to send her little girl away, cannot now be asserted; but this is certain, that from the day in which she was sent to the

lodge, he went, as regularly as the morning rose, to see the little one. Let the first motive be what it might, it soon became clear to every one that a feeling of strong affection for her had taken deep root in the breast of Jocelyn, becoming, in fact, a principle of his feeble mind, and calling out in the sequel every power and every feeling of his heart and his natural powers. The infant for some months, of course, could not know him nor notice him, but after a while she smiled when she saw him; and again, after another advance of time, she quavered and crowed, and extended her little arms towards him when he came in sight; and next she hugged him with her baby arms, and kissed him with open mouth, and then she cooed to him—and then she tempted him to carry her out of doors-and then she tried to talk to him, and before she could utter his name he was her slave for life, and Cæsar was another of her faithful votaries. Either of these two, it might almost have been said, would have given up his life for her sake; and although infants are the most despotic of all tyrants, yet neither the one nor the other was ever found to resist the exactions of little Barbara. Things had gone on in this way for several years, and at the time when the parents were beginning to contemplate the removal of the child, (though they both agreed that she could not be better than where she was) the long-desired object was given to them in the form of a son, on whom the mother fondly bestowed all her affections, and on whom the father looked as on a future baronet, bestowing his own name, Reginald, on the unconscious little being.

The justice, who had been declining for several years, only lived long enough, after the birth of Reginald, to make considerable alterations to his will: by these he appointed his faithful steward, Watson, and his family solicitor the guardians of Jocelyn, instead of his daughter and her husband; and having left a large sum to Barbara, he appointed her uncle's guardians to be her trustees.

These arrangements gave such offence to Mr. and Mrs. Rokeby, that very speedily after becoming acquainted with them, they gave up housekeeping at the Hall, left their little girl with the nurse at the lodge, and abandoning the brother, whose very existence was a rankling thorn in their sides, to the easy rule of Mr. Watson, they went abroad with their infant boy. Little did

they anticipate the dreadful circumstances which rendered their return impossible, until, even had they desired it, they had lost all opportunity of gathering up the ties of natural and family affection which they had so cruelly cast away; for these ambitious parents found themselves childless when they returned to England, with no descendant to gather up the title and rich inheritance which had devolved to them. Their son was dead, and the long neglected daughter also passed to a happier state of being. An original letter which had been kept within the leaves of a bible by her to whom it was addressed, written by little Barbara herself, now lies before the narrator, and this epistle, in its childlike style, presents so sweet a picture of him who by the world was accounted a fool, that it would be a shame to give its contents to our readers in any but the original form. It should be, however, remembered, that it was really penned many months after the actual death of the writer's uncle Jocelyn Barwell, and though the paper was much blotted and stained, yet it is, we trust, faithfully made out. It was dated near the end of the last century, and ran as follows:

The Letter.

"You asked me, my own dear Miss Emmeline, to write you the account of all I remembered of my own beloved uncle Jocelyn; and it is to be written in order of time, you said, as things happened.

"But when I began to think how I could do that, I got puzzled, for how could I, or any one, set in order the memories of things which happened when they were almost babies; but I will do my best, and I fear you will think my best very bad; for when I think of my own dear, dear uncle, and of those happy, happy days when I was always with him, I am fitter to cry than to write, as you expect me to do.

"Then what can I say of those years which reached all along from the time I first remember, till that saddest of all times to me, when my uncle went away to see his Saviour, face to face.

'My uncle taught me never to say that any one was dead who was loved by this Saviour. Horace is not dead,' he always said, 'for Jesus Christ loved him; he was only asleep when he was taken away.' I do not remember my papa and mamma and little

brother, they went away long, long ago; nor have I the least recollection of grandpapa: the first I can remember is being with dear nurse at that pretty lodge, which was all surrounded with trees and flowers. I could almost fancy that when I was a very little child the porch was always covered with honey-suckles and roses in full bloom.

“When uncle Jocelyn came with Cæsar every morning—Cæsar always told us when he was coming, for the poor dog cut across the groves by such a low narrow way among the briers and bushes that his master could not pass them—and then, as dear nurse used to say, there was no peace till I was dressed to go out with my bonnet and other things according to the season, though I scarcely remember any season which did not seem to me then like bright, sweet summer; for all my memories of my happy, happy young days—before I lost the dearest friend that ever orphan infant had

-are bright as if the sun had always shone upon them, and perfumed as if it had always been the season for flowers and the singing of birds.

"It seems to me now as if we had been all day out of doors, I being sometimes in my young tall uncle's arms, or for a change on one or another shoulder, or when I required it, (for he seldom refused me any thing) riding on his back, whilst he crept along on his hands and knees, giving me a tumble occasionally on a soft bank, and then uttering such a merry ringing laugh as I have never heard since from any one, and perhaps shall never hear again.

"But we were not always moving; sometimes we sat down in the shade of some tree, and held conversations with each other in our own fashions, which were not like other people's, I dare say; but if they were not such as others might think good, they were better to me than all I have ever heard since.

"I know that my dear uncle was reckoned a fool by some people, and he always said of himself that he was a fool; but whether he was one or not to the world, to me he was the sweetest, wisest, best companion that a child could have -and oh! so very pleasant! He knew the ways of the living creatures in the woods and fields very well, and could tell so many of their little private ways, of what they did in their holes, and how they took care of their young ones, and when he saw any of these creatures

whilst we were sitting in some quiet shady place, he would begin all at once to tell something about it, and then he could imitate any creature's cry; and that so truly, that I have heard the cuckoos answer him from a tree, or the poultry and dogs from a distant yard.

"I have not yet spoken of that one thing in which he was most lovely of all—that which really makes the happiness of our lives, and all our other pleasures, more and more pleasant. Without that one thing we should soon get tired of groves, and green lawns, and the cool running waters, and of the birds and the deer, and all happy sights and sounds out of doors. I see, indeed, that people in this place get tired of every thing, and it might have been the same with us if it had not been that every thing was so joined in my uncle's mind with holy and heavenly thoughts, that he hardly ever spoke of anything which was before him without bringing something forward which seemed to him to belong to it in the happy world which is unseen. He could not look up at the bright and glorious sky, or down into the cup of a little flower or abroad upon the glades and groves, but he saw something about God in them and he was always trying to make me understand these thoughts.

"

Many, many, many times, too, have I heard him say, 'I was a fool-I am a fool; but Horace loved me, Horace would have died for me, though I was a fool. Jesus, too,' he would say, 'is greater than Horace-Horace is gone to sleep, but the Saviour never sleeps, he loves me more than Horace did. Horace said so. He loves me though I am a fool; he loves you little Barbara, He died for you, he will always love you. We cannot see him with our eyes; Horace said we could not, but we see his beauty in the sun, and his glory too; and he makes corn grow to feed us, and fruit to delight us, and water for us to drink. Horace said that there is no love like his love.'

"And may I believe, dear Miss Emmeline ;-yes I do believethat the blessing of God descended on the teachings of my beloved uncle, even when I was a very little child. But since I have been able to make out my Bible for myself: and to talk with other people on the subject; and to hear good sermons and read good books, I have obtained a much clearer knowledge of my God, my Saviour, and myself: for although some people tell us that

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