street, Liverpool; and take care that you attend to my counsels; for it has cost me no little trouble to draw up this long homily. Take care of yourself, and no more balloonings.

"Yours, J. S."

"Well done, old Smith," cried Hawker, directly I had finished reading this lengthy document. "Well done, old Smith !-there's some sense in that letter, eh, Doveton? And what do you think of that last scrap of advice? Cultivate the acquaintance of young Hawker.'"

"I think" said I, shaking my friend warmly by the hand, "that it is the best sentence in the letter; and at all events it is the only bit of advice which I am quite certain to act upon. Do you think that I shall disobey the mandate?”

"It shall not be my fault if you do."

CHAPTER XVI.

DULCE DOMUM.

"There are some by nature proud,

Who patient in all else demand but this,

To love and be beloved with gentleness;

And being scorned what wonder that they die
Some living death?"

SHELLEY.

I AM afraid that the Critics will object against my work that the action of its plot is languid. These Literary Watchmen will be telling me to " keep moving;" so I must bestir myself, and accelerate my pace, though no skilful jockey ever started his horse in a gallop. And this reminds me that the characters of a novel are something like the horses entered for a race; first of all you see the animals brought out for the saddling-but I

know not why I need retard the progress of my work still more by an extraordinary simile.

Mine is professedly a psychological narrative. I have less to do with the outer world of action, than with the inner world of thought and feeling; and, having declared this, I trust that the reader will not subject my work to any canons of criticisms, to which it was never intended to conform ; and, moreover, I hope that he will acknowledge that I have studied, to some purpose, Fielding's admirable essay written to prove that an author will write the better for having some knowledge of the subject on which he writes," and that I have not altogether forgotten the precept of the old Greek, contained in the two words y v w bi GEAUTOV, or as we translate it, know thine own

self.'

66

But, to return.-I remained at Dr. Goodenough's two years and a half, after the occurrence of the events-if such they may be called,-which I have detailed in the last chapter. During this time, as may easily be supposed, my body increased in stature, and I trust that my mind did the same. I spent one of my vacations with an uncle, a widower, in the vicinity of London; the others were passed at Meadow-bank, and were not wholly unproductive of incident, though I am forced to brush by them in silence; only stating, that I renewed my acquaintance with the Moores, and that the con

sequences of such renewal may very easily be anticipated. I became devoutly in love with Ella, and desperately in friendship with Michael.

But I must not leave school altogether without one more affectionate retrospect. I well remember the last evening that I spent within the walls of my school-room. It was the eve of our 'breakingup' day for the Christmas vacation, and we were all-at least, as many as could get places,-assembled round a blazing fire, singing " Dulce Domum," at the top of our voices, with less harmony than feeling; for the words of the song came home to us all, though few of us were acquainted with the music. We had formed a semicircle of considerable extent, in front of the cheerful fire, and the middle seat was occupied by myself; for I was not only one of the senior, but one of the most popular, boys in the school, and I had a sort of acknowledged right, which none ever disputed, to this particular situation before the fire. Nor was this all; -there was an especial chair,- Dr. Goodenough's great arm-chair,-which I monopolised almost every winter-evening, and which was always called Doveton's seat, just as much as if it had been my own. I do not think that there is any more enviable condition than that of a senior boy in a large private school, where good feeling prevails universally; where love, and not fear, is the stimulant of action, and all the more lowly look up to him with

filial affection and respect.

I think that this was

once my condition, for I was always a friend to the weak.

Upon the particular evening to which I refer, we had extended our semicircle more than usual, for the season was bitterly inclement; and, moreover, we were desirous that the Dulce Domum should be chaunted in full chorus. I was ignorant that this was doomed to be my last evening at school, but, nevertheless, I felt certain-it must be confessed unseasonable-sensations of melancholy. There is always something in the thought of parting, even from those I do not much love, which weighs heavily upon my spirits. But here I was about to part from many whom I regarded with affection; and though I expected soon to rejoin them, I could not help feeling somewhat depressed. There was a little boy standing behind my chair,a fair-faced, curly-headed little boy;—he was one of my protegés, and, seeing the little fellow, I took compassion upon him, and inviting him to come within the circle, I took him upon my lap, that he might fully enjoy, without incommoding my neighbours, the warmth of the cheerful fire. I do not know whether I am singular in this respect, but whenever I have done an act of condescension and kindness, my eyes become full of tears, and very little will cause them to overflow. I cannot account for this phenomenon, unless it is that they