oyment. I have, in fact, little further to
add; you are now about to become members of society, and to assume
more distinctly the duties which it imposes on you. Discharge them all
faithfully--do not break your words, but keep your promises, and respect
yourselves, remember that self-respect is a very different thing
from pride, or an empty overweening vanity--self-respect is, in fact,
altogether incompatible with them, as they are with it; like opposite
qualities, they cannot abide in the same individual. Let me impress
it on you, that these are the principles by which you must honorably
succeed in life, if you do succeed; while by neglecting them, you must
assuredly fail. 'Tis true, knavery and dishonesty are often successful,
but it is by the exercise of fraudulent practices, which I am
certain you will never think of carrying into the business of life--I
consequently dismiss this point altogether, as unsuitable to either
of you. I have only to add, now, that I hope most sincerely you will
observe the few simple truths I have laid down to you; and I trust, that
ere many years pass, I may live to see you both respectable, useful,
and independent members of society. Farewell, and may you be all we wish
you!"

Whether this little code of useful doctrine was equally observed by
both, will appear in the course of our narrative.

About a month or so before the departure of Frank and Art from the
Corner House, Jemmy Murray and another man were one day in the beginning
of May strolling through one of his pasture-fields. His companion was
a thin, hard-visaged little fellow, with a triangular face, and dry
bristly hair, very much the color of, and nearly as prickly as, a
withered furze bush; both, indeed, were congenial spirits, for it is
only necessary to say, that he of the furze bush was another of those
charital and generous individuals whose great delight consisted, like
his friend Murray, in watching the seasons, and speculating upon the
failure of the crops. He had the reputation of being wealthy, and
in fact was so; indeed, of the two, those who had reason to know,
considered that he held the weightier purse; his name was Cooney
Finigan, and the object of his visit to Murray--their conversation,
however, will sufficiently develop that. Both, we should observe,
appeared to be exceedingly blank and solemn; Cooney's hard face, as he
cast his eye about him, would have made one imagine that he had just
buried the last of