Aubrey very soon afterwards had an opportunity of introducing himself to the clergyman, and was recognized, and they renewed their early friendship. Mr. Neville--for that was his name--poor soul, had nothing upon earth to support himself with, but an afternoon lectureship in one of the city churches, from which he derived about £75 a-year; and on this sum alone he had contrived, for the last four or five years, to support both himself and his wife--a very amiable and fond woman. Fortunately, they had no children; but they had seen much affliction, each of them being in but precarious health, and a sad proportion of his little income was, consequently, devoted to doctors' bills. He was an admirable scholar; a man of very powerful understanding, and deeply read in metaphysics and divinity. Yet this wretched pittance was all he could procure for his support; and pinching work for them, poor souls, it was indeed, to "make ends meet." They lived in very small but creditable lodgings; and amid all their privations, and with all the gloom of the future before them, they were as cheerful a little couple as the world ever saw. They dearly loved, and would have sacrificed everything for each other; and so long as they could but keep their chins above water, and he realize the stern and noble feeling, "pauper, _sed in meo ære_," they cared not for their exclusion from most of the comforts and all the elegancies of life. They were, both of them, entirely resigned to the will of Heaven as to their position--nay, in all things. She generally accompanied him whithersoever he went; but on the occasion to which I have been alluding, the good little creature was lying at home in bed, enduring great suffering; and the thought of it made the preacher's heart very heavy, and his voice to falter a little, several times during his sermon. He was perfectly delighted when Mr. Aubrey introduced himself; and when the latter had heard all his friend's little history--who had indeed a child-like simplicity and frankness, and told Mr. Aubrey everything he knew about himself--Mr. Aubrey wrung his hand with great emotion, almost, indeed, too great for expression. It seemed that a bishop, before whom poor Neville had accidentally preached seven years before, had sent for him, and expressed such a very high opinion of his sermon, as led him reasonably to look for some little preferment at his Lordship's hands; but in vain. Poor Neville had no powerful friends, and the bishop was overwhelmed with applicants for everything he had to give away; so it is not much to be wondered at, that, in time, he totally lost sight of Mr. Neville, and of the hopes which had blossomed, but to be blighted. What touched Mr. Aubrey to the soul, was the unaffected cheerfulness with which poor Mr. Neville--now in his fortieth year--reconciled himself to his unpromising circumstances; the calmness with which he witnessed the door of preferment evidently _shut upon him forever_. Mr.