CHAPTER X.

So, uncle, there you are!

Hamlet.

I WONDER Whether my father's brother resembles him! -thought I, as I timidly let the knocker fall.

Now it is a propensity with which we all are giftedthat for assigning certain qualities of mind and body to individuals of whom we really know nothing, but with whom we expect to be soon connected. And this we do upon the slightest causes. While reading a work that interests us, we have no distinct image of the author, or of the characters he portrays-unless some particular description be given; yet there flits around us a shadowy perception (if so I may call it) of certain forms, which are agreeable or disagreeable, just as the character please or displease. In this latter case, we act upon firmer ground. But in both the result is much the same-that is to say :we stare with the Scythians, who looked to meet a giant in Alexander, and found a man five feet some odd inches. My uncle is my father's brother; therefore he is like him; therefore he is tall, lank, and spindle-shanked, -has a long nose, sharp little eyes, heavy brows, and a large mouth-and is as sweet-tempered as a northwest wind in the middle of January.

This last stroke to the picture, and I stood, like Spinello, frightened by a devil of my own painting. The knocker fell still more gently than at first. Just then, a change in my position threw the light of a lamp directly upon the door-plate. There it was! JEREMY LEVIS! in full. Away flew long noses and northwesters, Spinello, picture, devil and all-and the knocker rose again;—but fell—as

from the hand of one who had a right to let that knocker fall. Who is it says "We are the slaves of circumstances"?

After all there is nothing like boldness in asserting one's rights: The door opened instantly." Is Mr. Levis within ?" I asked, in a voice as bold as my knock...... "Mr. Levis, sir!" replied the porter, eyeing me from head to foot with the most exquisite contempt—" Why, Mr. Levis hasn't left his room this two year! He isn't in, sir." I could never stand contempt, even from a porter; so I pushed the fellow down by way of satisfaction, ran up stairs, and opened the first door I came to, without ceremony.

A gentleman and lady were seated on a sofa in the room.-My uncle and aunt of course.-The former was a stout, rosy-cheeked, good-looking young man-quite a different person from what I had expected to find. I did not wait to study him further; but seized both his hands.

"How are you, uncle?" He stared. "What! don't you know me? I'm your nephew Jerry, come to London on purpose to see you.-My aunt, I presume?"-turning to the lady with equal affability :-" You see I must introduce myself, aunt: happy to see you look so charming; I've always heard my uncle was a man of taste." I had never heard any such thing: however, that was of no importance.

Mrs. Levis was certainly very good-natured; for she returned the affectionate pressure of her nephew's hand with the utmost cordiality; which was a matter of some surprise in one who could be so stately in speech as my

aunt.

"I congratulate myself," said this pattern of female eloquence, in a voice which sounded through, her teeth like the squeaking of dough in a wafer-iron, while her eyes, first heaven-ward then earth-ward rolled, like the same wafer-iron in its intervals of giving and receiving"I congratulate myself, that you have favoured us with a

"Thank God! I have no children; and my house is insured," answered the philosophic Quoins; and as he spoke the door opened. A light in the entry showed a gray-headed domestic holding the door a-jar. "His worship begs you'll walk in, sir: he'll be down instantly." I entered. "O Lord, O Lord! you've broken my nose !” screamed my companion, clapping his hand to his face. The waggish old man only mocked him :-" I didn't know you was comin' in, Mr. Quoins :"-and, tittering, he led the way to a room. I was wicked enough to relish the joke. "Is your nose insured too, Mr. Quoins ?"-I may thank the Herald, that I was not knocked down.

The justice did not keep us waiting. He was a man of about sixty, and in every respect the reverse of Mr. Quoins; that is to say-he was as much a gentleman as Quoins was a blackguard. My companion's bow he returned with coldness, and mine with affability. (The reason is plain-Quoins he knew; but me he did not know), and turning his back upon the former, addressed his conversation to me.

"You are come upon a melancholy business, young gentleman." I answered by relating the scene at the tavern precisely as I had told it to the printer.-I have seen many a justice of the peaceWhy do you laugh Reader? -I have seen many a justice of the peace, I say; but none with the feeling of Archibald Even, Esquire. He could not muster words for some minutes.

“A horrid affair, sir !-There is one thing we have yet to do and we must set about it immediately. Thomas! -Here, Thomas: call up the coachman, and bid him get ready the carriage; and do you go over to Kite's, and tell him to come here instantly—and bring his brother with him-and let them both come armed—and you may go ask for the coroner. And remember, Thomas, I rely upon your prudence:-you can be silent when you will." The old man left the room proud of the trust reposed in him.

"I'm much obliged to your worship for that direction" said Mr. Quoins, who had hitherto sat very still; "I wouldn't have the thing get wind for a great deal. And now I know how your worship's going to proceed in the business," he added, rising, "I'll go and set my boys to work immediately.-Good night—or rather, good morning, your worship. Good morning, my young sir."

"I am very sorry you have let that fellow know of this matter," said the justice, when the printer had quitted us. "He will publish some distorted account of it; and the whole town will be in a ferment." In justification of my being found in such company, I thought proper to give a history of my acquaintance with Editor Quoins; and— as I have ever remarked that people of warm feelings are as ready to laugh as cry-his worship seemed to relish it mightily.

"Well! that Quoins is a strange fellow. With all his conceit and folly, he is as cunning as his eye would mark him to be. He was once the editor of our sole journal; but, of late, he has had a rival in a new paper, which being better conducted than his own has of course a more extensive circulation—and that worries Quoins :-He is become jealous; and meaner than ever." Here the justice looked at his watch-"It is now half past two-I must leave you by yourself for a quarter of an hour or so; but I will not leave you in the dark as Mr. Quoins did. The carriage will probably be ready by the time I return."

It was nearly three o'clock when we started on our melancholy duty. The coroner sat with the justice and myself, and the constables occupied the box with the driver. On the way, the first named personage--one of your dull, sleepy, happy sort of people, that can enjoy a nap either in carriage or couch, as well on their bottoms as their backs-conceived it would be saving time to solder, where he was, the broken parts of his night's rest, and, thus unrestrained by his presence, I gave Mr. Even

an account of my obligations to the stranger whose misfortune had now brought us together. The good man was sensibly agitated.

"Indeed," he said, "I do not wonder that your feelings made you impotent to aid him; for, though Time has dulled in me the keener sense of youth, and a life of great vicissitude has rendered me familiar with horrours, had I been in your place I should have felt the same. What was the person of this unfortunate gentleman ?" I described it. "It is indeed as I thought!-Poor A

.!

-He was, sir, an unmarried gentleman who sometimes visited me, when he passed through our town; and, though we never were intimate, I knew him well, and esteemed him accordingly.- -He was possessed of extensive real estate, and his affairs often called him to the capital. It was probably on such an occasion that he met his fate, poor fellow!-Ah, my young companion! you have reason for sorrow; you have lost one whose friendship might have been, perhaps your surest gain, and certainly your greatest honour.- -Alas!"-added the worthy Justice, with a sigh-"It is ever thus with Death! He plucks the fairest and the soundest, and leaves the worm-gnawed blossom and the faded bud—the mildewed ear and the gnarled apple-to hang their use. less weight upon the stem, till they fall from very rottenness, or Autumn sweeps them to the earth to be trampled on-uncared for !"

I am not callous by nature, nor yet am I by usage of the world. I am of that volatile temperament, which flutters from sunshine to shade and back again from shade to sunshine-not indeed with the same enjoyment,―for in the one it may be warmed, and in the other chilled,-but always with equal readiness. Never the same for two minutes together, it is seen at one shivering with ruffled feathers, and at the next pluming with joy its glossy wing. I can laugh at a funeral, and cry at a wedding, and do both at