character for the conflict with the world would
then be weakened to the shadow of what
it is!"

"God help me, Christiana!" said I. "You
speak the truth."

"Michael!" said she, putting her hand in
mine, in all maidenly devotion, "let us keep
apart no longer. It is but for me to say that
I can live contented upon such means as you
have, and I well know you are happy. I say
so from my heart. Strive no more alone; let
us strive together. My dear Michael, it is
not right that I should keep secret from you
what you do not suspect, but what distresses
my whole life. My mother: without considering
that what you have lost, you have lost for me,
and on the assurance of my faith:
sets her heart on riches, and urges another
suit upon me, to my misery. I cannot bear
this, for to bear it is to be untrue to you. I
would rather share your struggles than look
on. I want no better home than you can
give me. I know that you will aspire and
labor with a higher courage if I am wholly
yours, and let it be so when you will!"

I was blest indeed, that day, and a new
world opened to me. We were married in a
very little while, and I took my wife to our
happy home. That was the beginning of the
residence I have spoken of; the Castle we
have ever since inhabited together, dates from
that time. All our children have been born
in it. Our first child— now married— was a
little girl, whom we called Christiana. Her
son is so like Little Frank, that I hardly know
which is which.

The current impression as to my partner's
dealings with me is also quite erroneous.
He did not begin to treat me coldly, as a
poor simpleton, when my uncle and I so
fatally quarrelled; nor did he afterwards
gradually possess himself of our business and
edge me out. On the contrary, he behaved
to me with the utmost good faith and honor.

Matters between us, took this turn:— On the
day of my separation from my uncle, and even
before the arrival at our counting-house of
my trunks (which he sent after me, not
carriage paid), I went down to our room of
business, on our little wharf, overlooking the
river; and there I told John Spatter what
had happened. John did not say, in reply,
that rich old relatives were palpable facts,
and that love and sentiment were moonshine
and fiction. He addressed me thus:

"Michael," said John. "We were at
school together, and I generally had the
knack of getting on better than you, and
making a higher reputation."

"You had, John," I returned.

"Although," said John, "I borrowed your
books, and lost them; borrowed your pocket-
money, and never repaid it; got you to buy
my damaged knives at a higher price than I
had given for them new; and to own to the
windows that I had broken."

"All not worth mentioning, John Spatter,"
said I, "but certainly true."

"When you were first established in this
infant business, which promises to thrive so
well," pursued John, "I came to you, in my
search for almost any employment, and you
made me your clerk."

"Still not worth mentioning, my dear John
Spatter," said I; "still, equally true."

"And finding that I had a good head for
business, and that I was really useful to the
business, you did not like to retain me in that
capacity, and thought it an act of justice soon
to make me your partner."

"Still less worth mentioning than any of
those other little circumstances you have
recalled, John Spatter," said I; "for I was,
and am, sensible of your merits and my
deficiencies."

"Now my good friend," said John, drawing
my arm through his, as he had had a habit of
doing at school; while two vessels outside the
windows of our counting-house— which were
shaped like the stern windows of a ship—
went lightly down the river with the tide, as
John and I might then be sailing away in
company, and in trust and confidence, on our
voyage of life; "let there, under these friendly
circumstances, be a right understanding
between us. You are too easy, Michael. You
are nobody's enemy but your own. If I
were to give you that damaging character
among our connexion, with a shrug, and a
shake of the head, and a sigh; and if I were
further to abuse the trust you place in
me——"

"But you never will abuse it at all, John,"
I observed.

"Never!" said he, "but l am putting a
case— I say, and if I were further to abuse
that trust by keeping this piece of our
common affairs in the dark, and this other
piece in the light, and again this other piece
in the twilight, and so on, I should strengthen
my strength, and weaken your weakness, day
by day, until at last I found myself on the
high road to fortune, and you left behind on
some bare common, a hopeless number of
miles out of the way."

"Exactly so," said I.

"To prevent this, Michael," said John
Spatter, "or the remotest chance of this, there
must be perfect openness between us. Nothing
must be concealed, and we must have but one
interest."

"My dear John Spatter," I assured him,
"that is precisely what I mean."

"And when you are too easy," pursued
John, his face glowing with friendship, " you
must allow me to prevent that imperfection
in your nature from being taken advantage
of, by any one; you must not expect me to
humour it——"

"My dear John Spatter," I interrupted,
"I don't expect you to humour it. I want to
correct it."

"And I, too!" said John.