when a
coffin borne by six men issued from the gates, and was deposited in the
waiting receptacle; while gentlemen in mourning went into the different
coaches.

A standard-bearer now appeared with an escutcheon, on which the keys and
mitre were displayed. Young Henry, upon this, pathetically exclaimed,
"My uncle! it is my uncle's funeral!"

Henry, his father, burst into tears.

The procession moved along.

The two Henrys, the only real mourners in the train, followed at a little
distance--in rags, but in tears.

The elder Henry's heart was nearly bursting; he longed to clasp the dear
remains of his brother without the dread of being spurned for his
presumption. He now could no longer remember him either as the dean or
bishop; but, leaping over that whole interval of pride and arrogance,
called only to his memory William, such as he knew him when they lived at
home together, together walked to London, and there together almost
perished for want.

They arrived at the church; and, while the coffin was placing in the
dreary vault, the weeping brother crept slowly after to the hideous spot.
His reflections now fixed on a different point. "Is this possible?" said
he to himself. "Is this the dean, whom I ever feared? Is this the
bishop, of whom within the present hour I stood in awe? Is this William,
whose every glance struck me with his superiority? Alas, my brother! and
is this horrid abode the reward for all your aspiring efforts? Are these
sepulchral trappings the only testimonies of your greatness which you
exhibit to me on my return? Did you foresee an end like this, while you
treated me, and many more of your youthful companions, with haughtiness
and contempt; while you thought it becoming of your dignity to shun and
despise us? Where is the difference now between my departed wife and
you? Or, if there be a difference, she, perchance, has the advantage.
Ah, my poor brother! for distinction in the other world, I trust, some of
your anxious labours have been employed; for you are now of less
importance in this than when you and I first left our native town, and
hoped for nothing greater than to be suffered to exist."

On their quitting the church, they inquired of the bystanders the
immediate cause of the bishop's death, and heard he had been suddenly
carried off by a raging fever.

Young Henry inquired "if Lady Clementina was at the palace, or Mr.
Norwynne?"

"The latter is there," he was answered