ssor of five
thousand per annum, could have any inducement to play the rogue, or
cheat his clients. The dependent slave who was chained all day to the
desk, in Robert Moncton's office, knew him to be a dishonest man; but
his practice daily increased, and his reputation and fortune increased
in proportion.

The habits and dispositions of these brothers were so different, so
utterly opposed to each other, that it was difficult to reconcile the
mind to the fact that they were so closely related.

My uncle had a subtle knowledge of character, which was rendered more
acute by his long acquaintance with the world; and he did not always
turn it to a righteous account. My father was a babe in these
matters--a cunning child might deceive him. While my uncle had a knack
of saving without appearing parsimonious, my father had an unfortunate
habit of frittering his money away upon trifles. You would have
imagined that the one had discovered the secret of the philosopher's
stone; and the other had ruined himself in endeavouring to find it out.
The one was economical from choice, the other extravagant from the mere
love of spending. My uncle married a rich merchant's daughter, for her
money. My father ran off with a poor curate's penniless girl, for love.
My father neglected his business and became poor. In the hope of
redeeming his fortune he frequented the turf and the gambling-table;
and died broken-hearted and insolvent in the prime of manhood; leaving
his widow and her orphan boy to the protection and guardianship of the
brother, who had drudged all his life to become a millionaire.

My dear mother only survived her handsome, reckless husband six short
months; and, bereaved of both my natural protectors, I was doomed at
the early age of eight years to drink the bitter cup of poverty and
dependence to its very dregs.

CHAPTER II.

MY MOTHER'S FUNERAL.

I never saw my Uncle Robert Moncton until the morning of my mother's
funeral; and the impression that first interview made upon my young
heart will never be forgotten. It cast the first dark shadow upon the
sunny dial of my life, and for many painful years my days and hours
were numbered beneath its gloomy influence.

It was a chill, murky November day, such a day as London or its
immediate vicinity can alone produce. The rain fell slowly and steadily
to the ground; and trickled from the window-frames in one continuous
stream. A thick mist hung upon the panes of gl