longer. While every succeeding word served to prove that the child of his benefactor stood before him, he had struggled with the utmost difficulty to suppress his emotions; but, when the juvenile recollections of Bertram turned towards his tutor and his precepts, he was compelled to give way to his feelings. He rose hastily from his chair, and with clasped hands, trembling limbs, and streaming eyes, called out aloud, "Harry Bertram!—look at me—was I not the man?"
"Yes," said Bertram, starting from his seat as if a sudden light had burst in upon his mind, "Yes—that was my name!—and that is the voice and the figure of my kind old master!"
The Dominie threw himself into his arms, pressed him a thousand times to his bosom in convulsions of transport, which shook his whole frame, sobbed hysterically, and, at length, in the emphatic language of scripture, lifted up his voice and
