the time, has given us great delight in the retrospect. But I must not be too particular, as I see the spire of the village to which I am bound rising above the woods before us," continued the old gentleman, "but must hasten to the conclusion of my story.

"Having made such miserable work of my reformation system, I resolved never again to settle at Plus Caervon, but established my son there on his marriage with his tutor's only daughter, who was an infant in arms when he entered her father's house-and he is now the parent of children as tall as myself.

"I am now on my return from visiting him; and if I could only say of him that in his generation he has undone all the mischief that I did in mine with my pragmatical schemes of reform, it would not be saying a little; but, with God's blessing, he has done more. Though he had to fight against the stream for a long time, yet has he at length introduced that spirit of submission, and of consequent content and frugality, into the families of his dependants, which in a great measure has removed all cause of murmur and complaint; for he labours to teach his people that this world is not their resting-place; that they are to be here but awhile, and that godliness with contentment is great gain; that if the old customs of society have their inconveniences, new plans, however well arranged, would certainly introduce others, and probably still greater ones. That it is necessary that there should be different ranks in society; and that although the turn of fortune's wheel might probably bring some up who are now down, yet that equality is a state of things which cannot last, as long as one man is stronger, or another more wise or artful, than his brother."

The good old gentleman was here suddenly cut off in his discourse by the appearance of a groom leading a horse, and motioning to the coachman to stop.

"Is it you, Thomas ?" he said, in a cheerful tone: "Are all well at home?" and then, bowing politely as he descended the steps of the coach, we passed rapidly forwards, and saw him no more.

MY THREE UNCLES.

My father never had more than one brother, and no sister, and my mother was an only child; I was therefore brought up in the idea that I never had, and never could have, more than one uncle; yet I have given for the title of my story my three uncles. How is this to be explained? how is one man to be multiplied into three? This is what I am about to make clear; and in order so to do, I must enter into a little outline of my life, and give at large some particular transactions of that life.

At first, I must make up my mind upon what name I shall choose to give to my family, for the public, if I can help it, shall never guess our real cognomen. I will not even select a name which shall mark my country, or direct my reader to any particular district of the island; and for this purpose what name can be more suitable than that of Smith? Since there have probably been smiths by trade in every habitable corner of the earth where iron is to be found or obtained, from the time of Tubal Cain to the present day. Not that I would be so unpolite as to seem to hint that all the genteel and polished families which now possess the surname of Smith in this our island, originally proceeded from the artificers in brass and iron; but this is not at present much to my purpose; suffice it to say, that I have chosen to adopt the surname of Smith, and the Christian name of Francis; and I would also wish my reader to be informed that I was left an orphan at a very tender age, and was immediately adopted into my uncle's family, brought up with his own children, and treated with so much kindness and so great impartiality, that I as often passed for his son as his nephew.

My uncle is a country gentleman, living on his own estate, which may be worth about a thousand a year, having an excellent wife, and a blooming family; he is a literary man, and has devoted much of his leisure to the accomplishment of a work which was published

some years since, and brought him so much credit, that he has been from that time a sort of public character, often quoted, and spoken of in the literary societies of the metropolis, and other parts of England. At present I shall say no more of him, but leave his character to develop itself in the course of my narrative; and here I must take the liberty of obtruding a hint which might not be altogether useless to certain celebrated writers of the present day; namely this, that he who is compelled, in order to make his reader understand the character of the person he would describe, to use two or three pages of expletives and high-sounding adjectives, is something like the painter who, having drawn a lion, was obliged to write under the figure, this is a lion, lest the beholder should mistake it for a certain long-eared animal of a very different description. It is a poorlydrawn character indeed, that does not show itself by its actions, and the parts which it takes in the adventures in hand; but I am growing prolix, and perhaps my reader will say, a little dull.

I had been more than fifteen years in the family of my uncle, when the good man was called to London on some business relative to his publication; and as my two cousins, who were older than myself, had been with him before, he proposed that I, as the next in age, should accompany him to town. I was then past nineteen, and did not sleep soundly for a week after this delightful prospect had been unfolded to me.

I do not propose to trouble my reader with our adventures on the road, nor with the accounts of all the sights we saw in London, or of our various regales on beefsteaks, porter, and oysters, but shall proceed to one of our latest scenes in town. We had taken our places for the country, and were to meet the coach at the White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, at six o'clock in the evening. With the view of travelling all night, having a few hours on our hands, we entered a celebrated bookseller's shop in Piccadilly; and while I was selecting some little books, with the double purpose of making presents to my cousins, and reading on the road when the rising sun should favour my studies, my uncle, who happened to be personally unknown to the master of the house, was listening to a knot of literati, who, being gathered in a circle, were discussing the merits of a new publication. It happened that this publication

treated of the same matters which had been so ably managed by my uncle, and which had obtained him so much credit. It was not, then, to be wondered at, if the mention of this publication should lead to that of my uncle's book; and accordingly one of the gentlemen present remarked, "that Mr. Smith's well-known valua ble book contained all that could be said on the subject in question, and that every one who came after him must, in consequence, come with disadvantage."

A slight colour rose in the cheek of my uncle at the mention of his name, but he looked at me not to betray him, and we went on turning over and selecting our purchases, while the following conversation proceeded.

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"That Mr. Smith," said an elderly gentleman, in a large wig, "is a man of sense and erudition-a deep reader a close reasoner. His work is a good one. He has said all that a man of sense could be supposed to say on the subject he selected; he has a mathematical head -a man of sense-quite the man of sound plain sense. Doctor," replied an elderly gentleman of very solemn and portentous aspect, "I quite coincide in your opinion. Smith's book on the subject in question is the best which has been written; the only one existing which is not mingled with and spoiled by metaphysical subtleties. I have had Smith's book on my table ever since it was printed; and Lord who was with me

this morning, says that he knows it almost by heart."

"Do you know Mr. Smith," asked a little gentleman in black, and wearing green spectacles, "do you happen to have seen him or conversed with him?" This question was addressed to the bookseller, and answered in the negative. On which the little man, taking some state on himself on the occasion, rejoined, "I have a friend who was in his part of England last summer, and heard much of his history."

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"Well, sir,” said the doctor," and what may that be?" "He is an elderly man, sir,” replied the little man, a widower, and brings up his brother's children in his own house; a strict man in his family; one who understands how to make a guinea go as far as any man in England-a very Puritan in his religious sentiments-an enemy to all amusements-in short, the sort of man who would think it a sin to hold a hand at cards, or play a hit at backgammon."

I had thrown down the book I had in my hand, and

was turning like a turkey-cock in a rage to attack the little man in black, when a second glance from my uncle restrained my ardour, and we suffered the conversation to proceed without interruption. It seems that the little man had purposely mentioned the subject of cards, for the doctor fired instantly at the hint, and exclaimed, "I cannot understand how the good people can find so much sin in an innocent game of cards. I should not have expected so much bigotry in a man of Mr. Smith's

"And so you say, sir, Mr. Smith is an austere character. Well, that is to be lamented; but you did not see him. How is he said to appear in conversation?"

"My friend tells me," replied the little man in black, "that he never cared to open his mouth before him. He is afraid of his acuteness. He is said to have a deep insight into human nature, and nothing leads to severity of judgment like knowledge of the human heart; you will allow that, gentlemen."

"Pardon me, sir," said the bookseller; "a keen sense of the follies of mankind leads to asperity, but not a knowledge of the human heart; because a man can only obtain this last species of knowledge by the inspection of his own heart; and the contemplation of his own defects will never make any man judge harshly of those of another."

"That is well remarked, sir," said my uncle, putting in his word in this place; "you have made an accurate and wise distinction."

The bookseller bowed, and the little man in black resumed.

"My friend was at the races of the country town, not far from which is the residence of Mr. Smith, and saw some of the country gentlemen, his neighbours, and they all agreed in the opinion of the abilities of this author; but they asserted that he was shown rather as a sort of curiosity among them than cultivated as an acquaintance."

Perhaps," said the bookseller, smiling, "Mr. Smith, being a man of talents, is not precisely the sort of character whose society would be relished by persons addicted to racing."

The little man bristled upon this. "My friend," said he, "is a man of intellect, otherwise I might venture to say he would not have been chosen as an associate of