ess would ask "if he could sing."

Rebuffs such as these poor Henry met with in all his applications for
William, till one fortunate evening, at the conclusion of a concert, a
great man shook him by the hand, and promised a living of five hundred a
year (the incumbent of which was upon his death-bed) to his brother, in
return for the entertainment that Henry had just afforded him.

Henry wrote in haste to William, and began his letter thus: "My dear
brother, I am not sorry you did not learn to play upon the fiddle."

CHAPTER V.

The incumbent of this living died--William underwent the customary
examinations, obtained successively the orders of deacon and priest; then
as early as possible came to town to take possession of the gift which
his brother's skill had acquired for him.

William had a steady countenance, a stern brow, and a majestic walk; all
of which this new accession, this holy calling to religious vows, rather
increased than diminished. In the early part of his life, the violin of
his brother had rather irritated than soothed the morose disposition of
his nature: and though, since their departure from their native
habitation, it had frequently calmed the violent ragings of his huger, it
had never been successful in appeasing the disturbed passions of a proud
and disdainful mind.

As the painter views with delight and wonder the finished picture,
expressive testimony of his taste and genius; as the physician beholds
with pride and gladness the recovering invalid, whom his art has snatched
from the jaws of death; as the father gazes with rapture on his first
child, the creature to whom he has given life; so did Henry survey, with
transporting glory, his brother, dressed for the first time in
canonicals, to preach at his parish church. He viewed him from head to
foot--smiled--viewed again--pulled one side of his gown a little this
way, one end of his band a little that way; then stole behind him,
pretending to place the curls of his hair, but in reality to indulge and
to conceal tears of fraternal pride and joy.

William was not without joy, neither was he wanting in love or gratitude
to his brother; but his pride was not completely satisfied.

"I am the elder," thought he to himself, "and a man of literature, and
yet am I obliged to my younger brother, an illiterate man." Here he
suppressed every thought which could be a reproach to that brother. But
there remained an object of his former c