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said, or should have said, that Wilson was not, in the most remote
degree, connected with my family. But assuredly if we had been brothers
we must have been twins; for, after leaving Dr. Bransby's, I casually
learned that my namesake was born on the nineteenth of January,
1
813--and this is a somewhat remarkable coincidence; for the day is
precisely that of my own nativity.
It may seem strange that in spite of the continual anxiety occasioned me
by the rivalry of Wilson, and his intolerable spirit of contradiction,
I could not bring myself to hate him altogether. We had, to be sure,
nearly every day a quarrel in which, yielding me publicly the palm of
victory, he, in some manner, contrived to make me feel that it was he
who had deserved it; yet a sense of pride on my part, and a veritable
dignity on his own, kept us always upon what are called "speaking
terms," while there were many points of strong congeniality in our
tempers, operating to awake me in a sentiment which our position alone,
perhaps, prevented from ripening into friendship. It is difficult,
indeed, to define, or even to describe, my real feelings towards
him. They formed a motley and heterogeneous admixture;--some petulant
animosity, which was not yet hatred, some esteem, more respect, much
fear, with a world of uneasy curiosity. To the moralist it will be
unnecessary to say, in addition, that Wilson and myself were the most
inseparable of companions.
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