s a preacher
after my own heart, and his sermon explained all my views clearly."
"Indeed," replied Mr. Talbot, "he must have a wonderful flow of
language to have handled so extensive a subject, in the usual time
allotted to a sermon." His answer displeased her very much. Among her
other gloomy forebodings she always seemed sure of the fact that Mr.
Talbot would survive her; and she replied: "That is always the way. You
make light of every thing I say; and I only hope you won't have all
these things to repent of when I shall be no more." Mr. Talbot seemed
sorry he had wounded her feelings, and replied: "We shall both live our
appointed time, and it is not for us to decide which of us will be first
removed." The last time I saw Mrs. Talbot she was indulging in her
anticipation of some coming calamity. I have learned from various
sources, that since I last saw her she has met _real_ afflictions of a
very trying nature, even to the most hopeful; and it may be that the
presence of real troubles have put to flight many which were only
imaginary; and she may by this time have learned to be thankful for
whatever of blessings may yet be left her in her path through life.

EDWARD BARTON.

My schoolmate Edward Barton, or 'Ned,' as he was usually called by the
boys, was such an odd character in his way, that I trust my readers will
pardon me for introducing him to their notice. His father was a
physician in a distant village, and was justly esteemed among the
residents of the place. He had an extensive practice both in the village
and surrounding country, and his time was very much occupied; and as Ned
grew up he proved a source of constant anxiety to his father, who, being
unable to keep him under his own eye, at length decided to send him to
reside with some relatives in a farming district some twenty miles from
his home. Ned's disposition was a singular compound of good and evil,
and his conduct depended, in a great measure, upon the companions he
associated with. He was easily persuaded, and often during his father's
frequent and lengthened absences from home he played truant from school,
and associated with the worst boys in the village. I well remember the
morning he first entered our school. He was then about twelve years of
age; but owing to his carelessness and inattention, he had made but
slight progress in study. I learned afterward that he had so long borne
the names of "dunce" and "blockhead" in the school he