uncle's observations some useful practical hints : a few of them, I may, perhaps, be able to recollect, and present to the reader.

"My first entry," said my uncle, "is the death of a younger brother, one that came between your mother and me, Frank. This was the first time I had known real sorrow. Ronald was my constant companion and playfellow. We were seized with the measles together. He was taken and I left. The distress of all the family at losing him was extreme; for he was a lovely child, and beloved by all. His death, I think, was the means of impressing on my mind two very important lessons ; one was, the power of Divine grace, and the value of true religion, in sustaining the mind of the Christian under affliction. Even to the present day, I remember the meek resignation with which my beloved parents bowed to that heavy stroke. About the same time, a fine boy, nearly the age of my brother, was taken from a family who, it is to be feared, were strangers to religion. The mother murmured bitterly at the bereaving dispensation, became deranged, and continued so through life.

"The other lesson impressed on my mind was, the duty of cherishing tender affection, and exercising constant kindness towards those with whom we are united in the most intimate connexions. I could remember with pleasure the interchange of habitual kindness between Ronald and myself. I recollected with intense pain one instance of unkindness and alienation. The spot and circumstances of our trifling quarrel are still vividly pictured to my mind, and send a painful thrill through my conscience. My childish feeling was, if I should die and go to heaven, as I

hoped Ronald had done, my first impulse on meeting him there, would be to embrace him and ask his forgiveness. A more correct and permanent effect of the recollection has been, to check the utterance of a hasty expression, the indulgence of an unkind feeling; and to prompt me, on recollecting that I had said or done any thing that might give pain to another, to lose no time in frankly confessing the fault, and seeking a cordial reconciliation.

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The next year was distinguished by the death of two relatives of the family, Mrs. H. and Mrs. L. Each was the mother of a numerous family with whom I occasionally associated. I believe they were both, in their way, good women, and well-intentioned mothers; but neither of them succeeded in securing the affection or the happiness of her children. Mrs. H. alienated her children by harshness and severity, which she intended for their good. In her scheme of education, all the stress was laid upon discipline, the effect of which was to make the children mind her and fear her.' Perhaps they did so in her presence; but the effect produced on their minds was such as led them to look upon her death as their release from bitter thraldom and arbitrary restraint, and their being set at liberty, to please themselves; a liberty of which they availed themselves to a ruinous extent. Mrs. L. erred on the side of fondness and indulgence. She made herself and all around her miserable by needless anxieties; a slight cold, or the cut finger of one of the children, would occasion her a fit of illness. Then she would never suffer them to be controlled, lest their spirits should be broken, and their tempers spoiled.

Certainly their spirits were not broken, but stood erect, in defiance of all proper authority; their tempers were much as those of spoiled children generally are. I believe they were a sad exercise to the patience and forbearance of a second mother, but that they had great reason to be thankful for her mild, yet firm discipline.

"Mr. W- our next door neighbour, the fat man who was always complaining that he had no appetite, and yet killed himself by over eating and drinking. He rose late, languid, feverish; had no relish for food, but enticed down a few slices of hot roll or buttered toast, by the help of anchovy, red-herring, or German sausage. In consideration of his failure at breakfast time, it was deemed requisite to take a luncheon, perhaps of turtle soup and sherry wine, perhaps oysters and porter. At dinner time there was generally a great failure of appetite, until, tickled by the tempting variety which his table always displayed, the poor man was induced to partake of fish, poultry, game, and pastry, with ample potations of beer, wine, and perhaps spirituous mixtures. If the muffins at tea did not quite relish, an egg or two would be called in to lend their persuasions ; and then, having had little or no appetite through the day, the poor man would fancy that he might relish a bit of something hot for his supper; a roast duck or partridge, or a dish of broiled kidneys, or toasted cheese. It would be necessary then to take a glass of spirits and water to promote digestion, and procure sleep. Even that infallible remedy sometimes failed, and year after year Mr. W. was continually ailing, and at length died of apoplexy in the forty-fifth year of his age. It is

probable that, being a child at the time, I should not have known so much about the matter, but that Mr. W. had a habit of dropping in at my father's, to complain of his uncomfortable feelings and want of appetite. My father told him he believed that a month's exchange of occupation and diet with one of his ploughmen would cure all his ailments. A similar prescription, rather more tersely expressed, has been frequently given by a celebrated physician to his patients, but I have not heard of many cures effected by it. That class of valetudinarians can seldom be sufficiently convinced of its efficacy to induce them to give it a fair trial. However, boys, it may be worth your remembering; and if, in future life, your maladies should not yield to ordinary remedies, at least give it a trial: it is, 'Live upon sixpence a day, and earn it.'

"Miss sixteen years of age, the intimate friend of my sister, afterwards Mrs. Tatnall. I recollect her, a fine, lively, rosy girl, as much so as my own sister; but she became pallid, feeble, and sickly, and died, universally lamented by her family and friends. My sister visited her frequently during her illness, and was much affected by her death, which the medical gentlemen, on a subsequent examination, alleged to have been brought on by tight lacing. Whether or not this was correct, it had a very happy effect on both my sisters, who, notwithstanding the tyrannical laws of fashion at that day, ever after yielded the formation of their persons to the graceful simplicity of nature.

"My grandmother

,

a choice old lady, of the race that is now nearly extinct. I can fancy I

see her now, seated in her richly-carved, highbacked chair, with her large silver buckles; a stiff full dress of rich silk; apron, cuffs, and handkerchief of the finest French cambric; a massy gold watch hooked on her apron-string; several mourning rings on her fingers, her silvery hair smoothed back; then a delicately white little cap, and over it a black lace hood, which I believe was the symbol of widowhood;" (the portrait of Mrs. Katherine Henry, the wife of Philip, and the mother of Matthew Henry, has always put me in mind of Uncle Barnaby's description of his grandmother;) "her gold-mounted spectacles in a tortoiseshell case, and a large Bible, with crimson velvet covers and gold clasps, lying open before her. These,' said my uncle, " were trifles in themselves, but they became fixed in my memory; happily not alone, but in connexion with many holy sentiments, many portions of Scripture read and affectionately pressed home upon me by my venerable ancestor, or committed to memory by me at her desire. Before she died, all her children and grandchildren were gathered around her, like those of the patriarch Israel, to receive her parting blessing and admonitions. The funeral sermon was preached from the closing verses of the ninety-first psalm, a portion of Scripture which was eminently verified in her character and experience. Blessed be God for pious ancestors, and may piety like her's descend and multiply through all the generations of her descendants!

"My cousin, Edward - and a young friend, Lawrence were drowned by the upsetting of a pleasure-boat. What an affecting lesson on the frailty and uncertainty of human life! In the