As he said this, Bennie, I asked myself whether it could be true that I did not even love my mother, and tried to think whether I had ever made the least sacrifice of my will to her comfort.  O, how many acts recurred to my mind of selfish imposition upon her yielding gentleness!  I am afraid that we boys all take the kindness of our parents too much as a matter of course, and do not often enough question ourselves whether we are making any return for their love.

But I am getting to scribble away my own thoughts quite too freely.  Yet it is only a year since I could think of no other commencement to a letter than “As this is composition day, I thought that I would write to you.”

As Dick thus spake of his own want of consideration for the feelings of his little sister, he became exceedingly agitated and was unable to proceed.  Clarendon, who had finished reading his papers, came to the side of the boat where we were sitting, and told me that he was going to turn in, and that it was quite time for me to be asleep too.  I was very reluctant to go, but when brother was out of hearing, Dick said,—­“It is as well.  I find I have not self-command enough to go over the sad story of my own folly.  If you will give me a pencil and some paper, to-morrow I will write such portions of it as I think may interest or be of service to you.  Do not criticize the expressions, for it is many years since I have done any thing of the kind, and the life I have led has about destroyed all traces of my early education.”

Of course, David and I were obliged to accept this promise in lieu of the evening’s entertainment which we had expected, and marched off to our berths.

The next day we came upon a fine shoal of mackerel; so every one was busy, and it was not till nearly a week afterwards that Dick handed us two closely-written sheets of paper, with a caution not to show them to any one else.  David and I read them with much interest, and I copied them to send to you.  Here they are, and you must take care that I have them safe on my return.

CONTINUATION OF DICK’S STORY.

“It was not from pride that I was unable to go on with the history of my own early years; but I find that I had not the fortitude to bear the sad recollection of my own selfishness and ingratitude.  My little sister’s image rose before me with such sweetness and purity that I could not utter another word.

“I will pass over the years of my infantine tyranny till, when at the age of fourteen, I became possessed with a strong desire to be sent to a public school.  My father was sitting in his large arm-chair, in the porch, after tea, when I made this request, which, at first, he refused to grant.

“‘I shall never be any thing but a baby,’ I exclaimed angrily, ’brought up with nobody but a mere child, and that a girl, too, for my playmate.  Do send me where I can make a man, and be a match for other boys of my age.’