r poor uncle has been taken in mercy from the evil to
come. You know his frank, generous nature--you know his extravagant
habits and self-indulgence. How could such a man struggle with the
sorrows and cares of poverty, or encounter the cold glances of those
whom he was wont to entertain? Think, think a moment, and restrain this
passionate grief. Would it be wise, or kind, or Christian-like, to wish
him back?"

Anthony remembered his interview with his father--the wreck of the last
hope to which his uncle had clung; and he felt that Mr. Grant was right.

"All is for the best. My loss is his gain--but such a loss--such a
dreadful loss!--I know not how to bear it with becoming fortitude!"

"I will not attempt to insult your grief by offering common-place
condolence. These are but words, of course. Nature says, weep--weep
freely, my dear young friend; but do not regret his departure."

"How did he die?--dear kind uncle! Was he at all prepared for such a
sudden unexpected event?"

"The agitating occurrences of the last week had induced a tendency of
blood to the head, which ended in apoplexy. From the moment of seizure
he was insensible to all outward objects; he did not even recognise his
son, in whose arms he breathed his last. Of his mental state, it is
impossible for us to determine. He had faults, but they were more the
result of unhappy circumstances than of any peculiar tendency to evil in
his nature. He was kind, benevolent, and merciful: a good neighbor, and
a warm and faithful friend. Let us hope that he has found forgiveness
through the merits of his Redeemer, and is at rest."

Anthony kissed his uncle's cold cheek, and said, "God bless him!" with
great fervor.

"And now, my young friend, tell me candidly, in what way you have
offended Captain Whitmore--a man both wealthy and powerful, and who has
proved himself such a disinterested friend to your uncle and cousin; and
who might, if he pleased, be of infinite service, to you? Can you
explain to me the meaning of his parting words?"

"Not here--not here," said Anthony, greatly agitated. "By the dead body
of the father, how can a creature so long dependent upon his bounty
denounce his only son? Captain Whitmore labors under a strong
delusion--he has believed a lie; and poor and friendless as I am, I am
too proud to convince him of his error."

"You are wrong, Anthony. No one should suffer an undeserved stigma to
rest upon his character. But I will say no m