“MY early days,” the old man continued, “were, as all the rest have been, a mixture of happiness and troubles. I believe the troubles were, at the time, rather the more abundant part, though, in looking back on my past days I remember the bright spots more distinctly than the dark: just as, in youth, I have stood on Yewdale crag, and distinctly seen the distant top of Snafell in the Isle of Man, because a sunbeam happened to fall on it, while all was dark and indistinct around it. My father was a little _Statesman_; by which, as you know, is not meant, in Cumberland, any thing like Lord John Russell, as such a term would be understood in Manchester; for he never, I believe, read a newspaper in his life; nay, probably never saw one, unless it might be upon Lady le Fleming’s hall table, when he went, as he did, once a year, to Rydal, to pay his boon rent to her, as lady of the manor. A statesman, in Cumberland, is the owner of a little land; and as proud he is of his little holding, as Sir Robert Peel can be (and proud indeed he may be!) of governing the state. How long we had lived upon this little estate, I cannot tell, nor, I suppose, any body else. There were no title deeds in existence; nor, I believe, many wills, if any. When the father died, the son quietly buried him in Hawkshead church-yard, and then as quietly stepped into his shoes, wore out his old coats, (if they could be worn out,) and every thing went on just as before. My father was the most silent man I ever met with in my life. He never spoke unless he had something to say, and that seemed to be only once or twice in the course of the day. He was always the first up in the morning, and the last in bed at night, and worked like a slave on his farm from sunrise to sunset. Of course I could not understand his character then, but I have often tried to understand it since he was taken away, and I became capable of reflection. He never shewed me much kindness, but was never harsh, though always firm. I had great respect for him, because I saw my neighbours had; and I believe it is true, generally, that children learn to value their parents a good deal by the way in which they see them treated by indifferent persons. All my life I have always treated parents with respect in the presence of their children.” “Thank you, my good friend,” interrupted I, “for that hint; I will put that down in my memorandum book.”