"An honor to the family, indeed!" This was the clear expression in

that Christian lady's eyes, as I saw them sink immediately after

in a scornful examination of my rugged frame and coarse garments.

The family had its own sources of honor, was the calm opinion of

both my patrons, as they turned their eyes upon their only remaining

child--a little girl about five years old, who was playing around

them on the carpet. This opinion was also mine, even then: and my

eyes followed theirs in the same direction. Julia Clifford was one

of the sweetest little fairies in the world. Tender-hearted, and

just, and generous, like the dear little brother, whom she had

only known to lose, she was yet as playful as a kitten. I was twice

her age--just ten--at this period; and a sort of instinct led me to

adopt the little creature, in place of poor Edgar, in the friendship

of my boyish heart. I drew her in her little wagon--carried her over

the brooklet--constructed her tiny playthings--and in consideration

of my usefulness, in most generally keeping her in the best of

humors, her mother was not unwilling that I should be her frequent

playmate. Nay, at such times she could spare a gentle word even

to me, as one throws a bone to the dog, who has jumped a pole, or

plunged into the water, or worried some other dog, for his amusement.

At no other period did my worthy aunt vouchsafe me such unlooked-for

consideration.

But Julia Clifford was not my only friend. I had made another

shortly before the death of Edgar; though, passingly it may be said,

friendship-making was no easy business with a nature such as mine

had now become. The inevitable result of such treatment as that

to which my early years had been subjected, was fully realized. I

was suspicious to the last degree of all new faces--jealous of the

regards of the old; devoting myself where my affections were set

and requiring devotion--rigid, exclusive devotion--from their object

in return. There was a terrible earnestness in all my moods which

made my very love a thing to be feared. I was no trifler--I could

not suffer to be trifled with--and the ordinary friendships of man

or boy can not long endure the exactions of such a disposition.

The penalties are usually thought to be--and are--infinitely beyond

the rewards and benefits.

My intimacies with William Edgerton were first formed under

circumstances which, of all others, are most likely to establish

them on a firm basis in our days of boyhood. He came to my rescue

one evening, when, returning from school, I was beset by three

other boys, who had resolved on drubbing me. My haughty deportment

had vexed their self-esteem, and, as the same cause had left me

with few sympathies, it was taken for granted that the unfairness

of their assault would provoke no censure. They were mistaken. In

the moment of my greatest difficulty, William Edgerton dashed in

among them. My exigency rendered his assistance a very singular

benefit. My nose was already broken--one of my eyes sealed up for

a week's holyday; and I was suffering from small annoyances, of hip,

heart, leg, and thigh, occasioned by the repeated cuffs, and the

reckless kicks, which I was momently receiving from three points

of the compass. It is true that my enemies had their hurts to

complain of also; but the odds were too greatly against me for any

conduct or strength of mine to neutralize or overcome; and it was

only by Edgerton's interposition that I was saved from utter defeat

and much worse usage. The beating I had already suffered. I was

sore from head to foot for a week after; and my only consolation

was that my enemies left the ground in a condition, if anything,

something worse than my own.




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