The Monctons | Page 3

the
respect that men of common minds pay to wealth for its own sake, that
my uncle was as much courted by persons of his class, as if he had been
Lord Chancellor of England. He was called the honest lawyer:
wherefore, I never could determine, except that he was the rich lawyer;
and people could not imagine that the envied possessor of five
thousand per annum, could have any inducement to play the rogue, or
cheat his clients. The dependent slave who was chained all day to the
desk, in Robert Moncton's office, knew him to be a dishonest man; but
his practice daily increased, and his reputation and fortune increased in
proportion.
The habits and dispositions of these brothers were so different, so
utterly opposed to each other, that it was difficult to reconcile the mind
to the fact that they were so closely related.
My uncle had a subtle knowledge of character, which was rendered
more acute by his long acquaintance with the world; and he did not
always turn it to a righteous account. My father was a babe in these
matters--a cunning child might deceive him. While my uncle had a
knack of saving without appearing parsimonious, my father had an
unfortunate habit of frittering his money away upon trifles. You would
have imagined that the one had discovered the secret of the

philosopher's stone; and the other had ruined himself in endeavouring
to find it out. The one was economical from choice, the other
extravagant from the mere love of spending. My uncle married a rich
merchant's daughter, for her money. My father ran off with a poor
curate's penniless girl, for love. My father neglected his business and
became poor. In the hope of redeeming his fortune he frequented the
turf and the gambling-table; and died broken-hearted and insolvent in
the prime of manhood; leaving his widow and her orphan boy to the
protection and guardianship of the brother, who had drudged all his life
to become a millionaire.
My dear mother only survived her handsome, reckless husband six
short months; and, bereaved of both my natural protectors, I was
doomed at the early age of eight years to drink the bitter cup of poverty
and dependence to its very dregs.
CHAPTER II.
MY MOTHER'S FUNERAL.
I never saw my Uncle Robert Moncton until the morning of my
mother's funeral; and the impression that first interview made upon my
young heart will never be forgotten. It cast the first dark shadow upon
the sunny dial of my life, and for many painful years my days and
hours were numbered beneath its gloomy influence.
It was a chill, murky November day, such a day as London or its
immediate vicinity can alone produce. The rain fell slowly and steadily
to the ground; and trickled from the window-frames in one continuous
stream. A thick mist hung upon the panes of glass like a gauze veil,
intersected by innumerable channels of water, which looked like a
pattern of open work left in the dingy material. The shutters of our once
populous parlour were half-closed; and admitted into the large, deserted
apartment only a portion of this obscure light. The hearse destined to
convey the remains of my dear mother to their last, long resting-place,
was drawn up at the door. I saw it looming through the fog, with its tall,
black shadowy plumes, like some ghostly and monstrous thing. A

hitherto unknown feeling of dread stole over me. My life had been all
sunshine up to the present moment--the sight of that mournful funeral
array swept like a dark cloud over the smiling sky, blotting out all that
was bright and beautiful from my eyes and heart. I screamed in terror
and despair, and hid my face in the lap of my old nurse to shut out the
frightful vision, and shed torrents of tears.
The good woman tried to soothe me while she adjusted my black dress,
as I was to form one in that doleful procession as chief mourner--I was
my mother's only child. The only real mourner there.
The door which led into the next room was partly open. I saw the
undertaker's people removing the coffin in order to place it in the
hearse. This was a fresh cause for anxiety. I knew that that black,
mysterious-looking box contained the cold, pale, sleeping form of my
mother; but I could not realize the fact, that the beautiful and beloved
being, who had so lately kissed and blessed me, was unconscious of her
removal from her home and weeping boy.
"Mamma!--dear mamma!" I cried, struggling violently with nurse. "Let
me go, nurse! those wicked men shall not take away mamma!"
Two gentlemen, attracted by my cries and struggles, entered the room.
The foremost was a