Louis looked gravely in Hamilton's face, and put his other hand on that he held. Hamilton drew his own quickly away.

"Lady Louisa," he said, "these affectionate demonstrations may do well enough for us alone, but keep them for private service, and don't let us play Damon and Pythia in this touching manner, to so large an audience. It partakes slightly of the absurd."

Louis colored, and seemed a little hurt; but he replied, "I am afraid I am very girlish sometimes."

"Incontrovertibly," said Hamilton, kindly laying his hand heavily on Louis' shoulder. "But we have no desire that any one should laugh at you but our royal self."

"Are we going to the downs?" asked Louis.

Before Hamilton could answer, Frank Digby, one of the large audience alluded to, came up. "Of course," he replied; "Hamilton is one of our party."

"One of your party?" asked Hamilton.

"Your majesty's oblivious of the fact," said Frank, "that among the many offices, honorary and distinctive, held by your most gracious self, the presidency of the 'Ashfield Cricket Club' is not altogether one of the most insignificant."

"We will thank our faithful amanuensis to become our deputy this afternoon," said Hamilton; "having a great desire to refresh ourself with a quiet discourse on the beauties of Nature."

"No cricket this afternoon, Hamilton!" cried Louis; "I shall be so much disappointed if you go!"

"No cricket!" exclaimed Frank: "we will enter into a conspiracy, and dethrone Edward, if he refuses to come instanter."

"Dethrone me by all means, this afternoon," said Hamilton; "my deposition will save me a great deal of trouble. I am only afraid that my freedom from state affairs would be of short duration; my subjects appear to be able to do so little without me."

"Hear him!" exclaimed Jones, laughing; "hear king Log!"

"No favoritism!" cried Smith; "I bar all partiality. We'll treat you in the Gaveston fashion, Louis, if you don't persuade your master to accede to our reasonable demands."

"That would be treason against my own comforts," said Louis, laughing, and struggling unsuccessfully to rise from the ground, where he had been playfully thrown by Salisbury. "To the rescue! your majesty; I cry help!"

"To the rescue!" shouted Reginald, pouncing suddenly upon Salisbury, and diverting his attention from Louis who would have recovered his feet, but for the intervention of one or two of the party.

"Your majesty perceives," said Frank, "that a rebellion is already broken out. A word from you may compose all."

"I have engaged to walk with Louis Mortimer, and I declare I will not stir anywhere without him," said Hamilton.

"We cannot do without you, Hamilton," said Trevannion, who had just joined the council. "You are engaged for all the meetings."

"Which meetings have no right to be convened without the concurrence of the president;—eh, Mr. Secretary?" rejoined Hamilton.

"Of course you can please yourself," said Trevannion, proudly.

"Let Louis get up, Jones," said Hamilton.

"Does your majesty concede, or not?" said Jones, who was sitting upon Louis.

"I will answer when you let him get up."

Jones suffered Louis to rise, breathless and hot with his laughing exertions to free himself from durance vile.

"I will come, on condition that Louis comes too."

"Certainly," said Salisbury.

"And join our game, mind," said Hamilton.

"Oh!" exclaimed Smith; "that's decidedly another affair. You can't play, Sir Piers, can you?"

"He can learn," said Hamilton, who was perfectly aware of his ignorance.

"I've not the smallest objection," said Jones, "as I'm on the opposition side."

"Nor I," cried Salisbury; "though I should be a loser, as is probable."

"Really, Hamilton," exclaimed Trevannion, sulkily, "it's impossible! He'll only be in the way. I never saw such a fuss about a boy; it's quite absurd. If you want him, let him look on."

"I don't like cricket," said Louis.

"Humbug!" exclaimed Salisbury.

"I shall be in the way, as Trevannion says," continued Louis; "I am sure I shall never learn."

"'Patientia et perseverantia omnia vincunt,'" remarked Frank; "which may be freely translated in three ways:

'If a weary task you find it, Persevere, and never mind it;'

or,

'Never say die;'

or, thirdly,

'If at first you don't succeed,—try, try again,'"

"Louisa, I am ashamed for you," said Hamilton; "and insist on the exhibition of a more becoming spirit."

"That's right, Hamilton," cried Reginald; "make him learn."

Louis pleaded as much as he dared, in dread of a few thumps, friendly in intent, but vigorous in execution, from Salisbury, and a second shaking from Hamilton, but all in vain, and they sallied forth. Trevannion fastened on Hamilton, and grumbled ineffectual remonstrances till they reached a convenient spot for their game. Here, under the active supervision of Hamilton, Salisbury, and Reginald, Louis was duly initiated; and after a couple of hours' play they returned home, Louis being in some doubt as to whether his fingers were not all broken by the concussion of a cricket-ball, but otherwise more favorably disposed towards the game than heretofore. He was, likewise, not a little gratified by the evident interest most of the players took in his progress. Hamilton had entirely devoted himself to his instruction, encouraged him when he made an effort, and laughed at his cowardliness, and Salisbury had been scarcely less kind.

As they entered the playground, Salisbury held up a silver pencil-case to Frank:

"Remember, Frank," said he, warningly.

"Do you think I've forgotten?" said Frank; "my memory's not quite so treacherous, Mr. Salisbury."

"What's that, Salisbury?" said Jones.

"Only my wager."

"Wager!" repeated Hamilton. "What absurdity is Frank about to perpetrate now?"

"He is going to make Casson swallow some medicine of his own concoction. My pencil-case against his purse, contents and all, he isn't able to do it. Casson's too sharp."

"I am surprised," said Hamilton, "that Frank is not above playing tricks on that low boy. I thought you had had enough of it, Frank."

Frank laughed;—"No, he has foiled me regularly twice lately, and I am determined to pay him off for shamming this afternoon."

"I think it is real," said Louis.

"Then he has all the more need of medicine," said Frank; "and if he supposes it, my physic will do him as much good as any one else's."

"You'll certainly get yourself into some serious scrape some day with these practical jokes, Frank," said Hamilton. "It is a most ungentlemanly propensity."

"Hear, hear," said Reginald.

"What's that? Who goes there?" said Frank, directing the attention of the company to the figure of a tall woman neatly dressed in black silk, with an old-fashioned bonnet of the coal-scuttle species, who was crossing from the house to the playground at the moment; the lady in question being no other than the housekeeper, clothes-mender, &c., to Dr. Wilkinson introduced by Mr. Frank Digby as Gruffy, more properly rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Guppy.

"It's Gruffy, isn't it? Where is she going, I wonder."

Without waiting for an answer, Frank flew round the house, and disappeared in the forbidden regions of the kitchen.

"What is he after?" said Meredith. "I suspect we shall have some fun to-night."

"I do wish Frank wouldn't be so fond of such nonsense," said Hamilton, angrily. "Come, Louis, and take a turn till the tea-bell rings."

They had taken two or three turns up and down in front of the school-room, when the bell rang, and Frank Digby came back full of glee.

"I've done it, Salisbury," he cried, as he threw his hat in the air. "I've done it. I shall kill two birds with one stone. I'm sure to win; it's all settled; only I must be allowed to put the school-room clock forward half an hour."

"That wasn't in the bargain," said Salisbury.

"It wasn't out of it, at any rate," said Frank.

"It's all fair," said several voices; "he may do it which way he pleases."

"Remember, tace," said Frank. "Tace is the candle that lights Casson to bed to-night."

"I promise nothing, Frank," said Hamilton.

"Nevertheless you'll keep it," said Frank, laughing.

When tea was over, Frank disappeared rather mysteriously.

Salisbury had just begun to make use of one of the pile of books he had brought to the table in the class-room, when a notification was brought to him from the school-room, that Mrs. Guppy wanted to speak to him.

"Bother take her!" he exclaimed. "Why can't she come and speak to me? Interrupting a fellow at his work! Don't take my place; I shall be back presently."

Some time, however, elapsed, and no Salisbury. Now and then a few wonderments were expressed as to how Frank's wager would be won, and as to what Mrs. Guppy could want with Salisbury.

"Where is Frank, I wonder?" said one. "Just see, Peters, if Casson's gone yet."

Peters departed, and returned with the news that Casson had gone to bed a little while before.

"The farce has begun, I suspect," said Meredith. "It's more than half an hour since Salisbury went,—and depend upon it, wherever he is, there is Frank."

At this moment Salisbury rushed into the room, and throwing himself in a sitting posture on the floor, with his back against the wall as if completely exhausted, laughed on without uttering a word, till his mirth became so infectious, that nearly all the room joined him.

"Well, Salisbury!" "Well, Salisbury!" "What is it?" "Tell us." "Have done laughing, do, you wretch, you merry-andrew." "Do be sensible."

"Sensible!" groaned Salisbury, laying his head against a form; "oh, hold me, somebody—I'm quite knocked up with laughing. It's enough to make a fellow insensible for the rest of his life."

"Well, what is it, madcap?" said Reginald, jumping up from his seat, and approaching him in a threatening attitude.

"Frank Digby!" said Salisbury, going off into another paroxysm of laughter.

"Shake him into a little sense, Mortimer," said Jones.

"Come, Salisbury, what is it?" said several more, coming up to him.

Salisbury sat upright and wiped his eyes.

"It was the clearest case of stabbing a man with his own sword I ever saw. I don't know whether I shall ever get it out for laughing, but I'll try."

Louis looked up at Hamilton, rather anxious to get nearer to Salisbury, but Hamilton wrote on as if determined neither to let Louis move, nor to pay any attention himself, and Louis dared not ask.

"Well, you know, Mrs. Guppy sent for me. I went off in a beautiful humor, as you may imagine, and found her ladyship in a great dressing-gown, false front, and spectacles, surrounded by little boys in various stages of Saturday night's going to bed, tucking up Casson very comfortably.

"'Oh, Mr. Salisbury,' said she, 'I'll speak with you presently,—will you be so good as to wait there a minute?'

"Well, I thought she looked very odd, but she spoke just the same as ever; and being very cross, I said, 'I am in a hurry; perhaps when you've done you'll call on me in the study,' Whereupon her ladyship comes straight out of the room, and says on the landing, in Frank Digby's voice, 'Know me by this token, I am mixing a black draught by the light of a Latin candle.'"

Salisbury burst out into a fresh fit of laughter, in which he was joined by all present except Hamilton, who steadily pursued his work with an unmoved countenance.

"Well, you may imagine," said Salisbury, when he had recovered himself, "I wasn't in a hurry then. I came back and waited behind the door very patiently. You never saw any thing so exact—every motion and tone. He had pulled the curls over his eyes, and tied up his face with a great handkerchief over the cap, as Gruffy has been doing lately when she had the face-ache, and he went about among the little chaps in such a motherly, bustling way, it was quite affecting. Sally, who helped him, hadn't the least idea it wasn't Gruffy. However, the best of it is to come," said Salisbury, pausing a moment to recover the mirth which the recollection produced:—"He was stirring up a concoction of cold tea, ink and water, slate-pencil dust, sugar, mustard, and salt, when I thought" (Salisbury's voice trembled violently) "that I heard a step I ought to know, and I had hardly time to get completely behind the door when it was widely opened, and in walked the doctor!"

A burst of uproarious mirth drowned the voice of the speaker. There was a broad smile on Hamilton's face, though he did not raise his head. As soon as Salisbury could speak, he continued:

"'Oh!' said I to myself, 'it's all up with you, Mr. Frank,' and I felt a little desirous of concealing my small proportions as much as might be. What Frank might feel I can't say, but he seemed to be very busy, and, as he turned round to the doctor, put up his handkerchief to his face.

"'Does your face ache, Mrs. Guppy?' says the doctor; and—imagine the impudence of the boy—he answered, it was a little troublesome. 'How is Clarke this evening?—I hear he has been asleep this afternoon.' I imagine Frank has as much idea of the identity of Clarke as I have—I don't even know who he is, much less that he was ill—but he answered just as Gruffy would do, with her handkerchief up to her mouth, 'Rather better, sir, I think—he was asleep when I saw him last, and I didn't disturb him.' 'Hem,' said the doctor, 'and who's this?'"

The audience was here so convulsed with laughter that Salisbury could not proceed; Louis could not help joining the laugh, though rather checked by the immovable gravity of Hamilton's countenance.

"Really, Hamilton," he said, "I wonder how Frank could tell such stories."

"He doesn't think them so," said Hamilton, abruptly.

"Well, Salisbury!" "Well, Salisbury!" exclaimed several impatient voices. "The impudence of the fellow." "How will he ever get out of it?" "Get on, Salisbury." "The idea of joking with the doctor." "Go on, Salisbury." "What a capital fellow he'd make for one of those escaping heroes in romances—he'd never stay to have his head cut off."

"Well, and the doctor says, 'Who's this, Mrs. Guppy? Casson? How—what's the matter with you? How long have you been here?' 'Just come to bed, sir,' says Casson; and then the doctor makes a few inquiries about his terrible headache, et cetera; and Mrs. Guppy had a twinge of the toothache, and could only let the doctor know by little and little how she had thought it better to put him to bed.

"'And that is medicine for him?'

"The doctor looked very suspiciously at the cup, I fancy, for his tone was rather short and sulky. Frank seemed a little daunted, but he soon got up his spirits again, and, stirring up the mess, was just going to give it to Casson, when, lo! another strange footfall was heard; doctor turned round (I was in a state of fright, I assure you, lest he should discover me) and in marched the real Simon Pure! It was a picture—oh! if I had been an artist:—there stood Gruffy, in her best black silk, looking more puzzled than angry; Frank—I couldn't see what he looked like, but I'll suppose it, as he says—and doctor turning from one to the other with a face as red as a turkey-cock, and looking so magnificent!"



"Poor Frank!" exclaimed several laughing voices.

"Well, at last Fudge found words, and in such a tone, exclaimed, 'MRS. GUPPY! who is THIS, then?' Then she stormed out; 'Ay, sir, who is it, indeed? perhaps you will inquire.' I didn't see what followed, for my range of vision was rather circumscribed—but I imagine that doctor pulled off part of Frank's disguise, for the next words I heard were, 'Digby, this is intolerable!' uttered in the doctor's most magnificent anger—'What is the meaning of this?' Frank said something about a wager and a little fun, meaning no harm, et cetera; and Fudge gave him such a lecture, finishing off by declaring, that 'if he persisted in perpetrating such senseless follies he should find some other place to do so in than his house.' All the little boys were laughing, but doctor stopped them all with a thundering 'SILENCE!' and then he asked what Frank had in that cup. 'Cold tea, sir,' said Digby, quite meekly. 'And what's this at the bottom?' 'Sugar, sir,' I saw the doctor's face—it was not one to be trifled with, but there seemed a sort of grim smile there, too, when he gave the cup to Frank and insisted upon his drinking it all up; and Digby did it, too—he dared not refuse."

Another peal of laughter rang through the room, in which Hamilton joined heartily.

"Then," continued Salisbury, "doctor said he hoped he would feel a little better for his dose—and, becoming as grave as before, he desired he would return Mrs. Guppy's things, and beg her pardon for his impertinence."

"He didn't do so, surely?" said Jones.

"He did, though," replied Salisbury; "and I wouldn't have been him if he'd been obstinate; but he added—I wondered how even he dared—I've saved you a little trouble, ma'am, there are six of them in bed."

"Oh! oh! disgraceful!" exclaimed Hamilton.

"What did Fudge say?" asked Smith.

"'THIS TO MY FACE, SIR!' and then, what he was going to do I don't know, but Frank was quite frightened, and begged pardon so very humbly that at last Fudge let him off with five hundred lines of Virgil to be done before Wednesday evening, and then sent him to bed—and there he is, for he was too much alarmed to play any more tricks."

"I'd have given something to have seen it," cried one, when the laugh was a little over.

"I think," said Jones, "all things considered, that the doctor was tolerably lenient."

"Oh! Digby's a little bit of a favorite, I fancy," said Meredith.

"Not a bit," said Reginald. "What do you say, Hamilton?"

"Nothing," said Hamilton, shortly.

"One would think you never liked a joke, Hamilton," said Peters.

"Nor do I, when it is so low as to be practical," said Hamilton. "I feel no sympathy whatever with him."

The event furnished idle conversation enough for that evening, and it was long before it was forgotten; and, in spite of Frank's reiterated boast that he did not care, and his apparent participation in the mirth occasioned by his failure, it required the utmost exercise of his habitual good-humor to bear equally the untiring teasing of his school-fellows, and the still more trying coldness and sarcasm of his master, whose manner very perceptibly altered towards him for some time after. Casson took care that no one in the lower school should be ignorant of Frank's defeat, and stimulated the little boys to tease him—but this impertinence, being an insult to the dignity of the seniors, was revenged by them as a body, and the juvenile tormentors were too much awe-struck and alarmed to venture on a repetition of their offence.



CHAPTER XVI.

During Louis' frequent walks with Hamilton, it must not be supposed that his home and home-doings were left out of the conversation; before very long, Hamilton had made an intimate mental acquaintance with all his little friend's family, their habits of life, and every other interesting particular Louis could remember. Hamilton was an excellent listener, and never laughed at Louis' fondness for home, and many were the extracts from home-letters with which he was favored; nay, sometimes whole letters were inflicted on him.

Among the many delightful topics of home history, Louis dwelt on few with more pleasure and enthusiasm than the social musical evenings, and said so much on them, that Hamilton's curiosity was at length aroused, after hearing Louis sing two or three times, to wonder what a madrigal could be like. Louis tried to satisfy this craving by singing the treble part, and descanting eloquently on the manner in which the other parts ought to come in; but all in vain he repeated, "There now, Hamilton, you see this is the contralto part; and when this bit of the soprano is sung, it comes in so beautifully, and the bass is crossing it, and playing hide and seek with the tenor."

Hamilton was obtuse, but at length, by fagging very hard with one or two boys in the school-room, and getting one of the ushers, who generally performed a second in all the musical efforts in the school, to make some kind of bass, Louis presented his choir one evening in the playground, and made them sing, to the great rapture of the audience.

After this exhibition, the whole school seemed to have a fever for madrigals; nothing was heard about the playground but scraps of that which Louis had taken pains to drill into his party; and one or two came to Louis and Reginald to learn to take a second part. In play-hours, nothing seemed thought of but part-singing, and suddenly the propriety of giving a grand public concert was started; and after a serious debate, a singing-class was established, Louis being declared president, or master of the choir.

We will not say how fussy Louis was on the occasion; but he went about very busily trying the voices of his school-fellows for a day or two after his appointment, and picking out the best tones for his pupils. Casson owned a very fine singing voice, though it was one of the most rude in speaking, and having been partially initiated in the mystery before, by Louis was declared a treasure. Frank Digby was another valuable acquisition; for, joined to an extremely soft, full contralto voice, he possessed, in common with his many accomplishments, a refined ear and almost intuitive power of chiming in melodiously with any thing. Salisbury was a very respectable bass, as things went; and Reginald, who was certainly incapacitated for singing treble, declared his intention of assisting him, being quite confident that his voice would be a desirable adjunct. The members of the class having at last been decided on, a subscription was raised, and Hamilton was commissioned to purchase what was necessary, the first convenient opportunity; and accordingly, the next half-holiday, he obtained leave for Louis to accompany him, and set off on his commission. He had scarcely left the school-room when Trevannion met him, and volunteered to accompany him.

"I shall be very glad of your company," said Hamilton; "I am going to choose the music. You may stare when I talk of choosing music—it is well I have so powerful an auxiliary, or I am afraid I should not give much satisfaction to our committee of taste."

"What powerful auxiliary are you depending on?" said Trevannion; "I shall be a poor one."

"You—oh, yes!" exclaimed Hamilton; "a very poor one, I suspect. I was speaking of Louis Mortimer; he is going with me."

"Indeed," said Trevannion, coldly; "you will not want me, then!"

"Why not?" asked Hamilton. "We shall, I assure you, be very glad of your company."

"So will Hutton and Salisbury," said Trevannion; "and I can endure my own company when I am not wanted;" as he spoke, he walked away.

Hamilton turned, and looked after his retreating figure, as, drawn up to its full height, it quickly disappeared in the crowd of boys, who were chaffering with the old cake-man. His puzzled countenance soon resumed its accustomed gravity, and with a slight curl of the lip, he laid his hand on Louis' arm, and drew him on.

"Trevannion is offended," said Louis.

"He's welcome," was the rejoinder.

"But it is on my account, Hamilton," said Louis, anxiously; "I cannot bear that you should quarrel with him for me."

"I have not quarrelled," said Hamilton, coldly. "If he chooses to be offended, I can't help it."

"But he is an older friend than I am in two senses—let me go after him and tell him I am not going. I can go with you another afternoon."

Louis drew his arm away as he spoke, and was starting off, when Hamilton seized him quite roughly, and exclaimed in an angry tone, "You shall do no such thing, Louis! Does he suppose I am to have no one else but himself for my friend—friend, indeed!" he repeated. "It's all indolence, Louis."

Louis looked up half alarmed, startled at his vehemence.

"Perhaps," said Hamilton, relaxing his hold, and laughing as he spoke, "perhaps if I had not been so lazy, I should have found a more suitable friend before; as it is, I do not yet find Trevannion indispensable—by no means," he added, scornfully.

"Dear Hamilton," said Louis, "I shall be quite unhappy if I think I am the cause of your thinking ill of Trevannion. You used to be such great friends."

"None the worse, perhaps, because we are aware of a common absence of perfection in each other," replied Hamilton, whose countenance had gradually regained its calmness. "It is foolish to be angry, Louis, but I was; and now let there be an end of it—I don't mean to forsake you for all the Trevannions in Christendom."

They had by this time reached the playground gates, and were here overtaken by Frank Digby, who had before engaged to be one of the party.

"Better late than never," said Louis, in reply to his breathless excuses. "I had my doubts whether your pressing engagements with Maister Dunn would allow you to accompany us."

"Why, I got rid of him pretty soon," said Frank; "only just as I had wedged myself out of the phalanx, who should appear but Thally."

"Who?" said Louis.

"Tharah," repeated Frank.

"Sally Simmons, the boot-cleaner, Louis," said Hamilton; "you are up to nothing yet."

"She's a queer stick," said Frank.

"What a strange description of a woman!" remarked Louis. "It is as clear as a person being a brick."

"And so it is," replied Frank; "only it's just the reverse."

"Up comes Thally with my Sunday boots as bright as her fair hands could make them, and wanted me to look at a hole she had scraped in them, nor, though I promised to give her my opinion of her handiwork when I came back, was I allowed to depart till she had permission to take them to her 'fayther.'"

Nothing worthy of record passed during the walk to Bristol till the trio reached College Green. Here Louis began to look out for music-shops, while Frank entertained his companions with a running commentary on the shops, carriages, and people. It was a clear, bright day, and Clifton seemed to have poured itself out in the Green.

"Look there, Hamilton, there's a whiskered don! What a pair of moustaches! Hamilton, where is your eye-glass? Here's Trevannion's shadow—was there ever such a Paris! Good gracious! as the ladies say, what a frightful bonnet! Isn't that a love of a silk, Louis? Now, Hamilton, did you ever see such a guy?"

Hamilton was annoyed at these remarks, made by no means in a low tone, and, in his eagerness to change the conversation and get further from Frank, he unfortunately ran against a lady who was getting out of a carriage just drawn up in front of a large linen-draper's shop, much to the indignation of a young gentleman who attended her.

Hamilton begged pardon, with a crimson face; and, as the lady kindly assured him she was not hurt, Louis recognized in her his quondam friend, Mrs. Paget, and darted forward to claim her acquaintance.



"What, Louis! my little Master Louis!" exclaimed the lady; "I did not expect to see you. Where have you come from?"

"I am at school, ma'am, at Dr. Wilkinson's, and I had leave to come out with Hamilton this afternoon. This is Hamilton, ma'am—Hamilton, this is Mrs. Paget."

"Our rencontre, Mr. Hamilton," said the lady, "has been most fortunate; for without this contretemps I should have been quite ignorant of Master Louis' being so near—you must come and see me, dear. Mr. Hamilton, I must take him home with me this afternoon."

"It is impossible, ma'am," said Hamilton, bluntly; "I am answerable for him, and he must go back with me."

"Can you be so inexorable?" said Mrs. Paget. "Will you come, too, and Mr. Francis Digby—I beg your pardon, Mr. Frank, I did not see you."

"I beg yours, ma'am," replied the affable Frank, with a most engaging bow; "for I was so taken up with the tempting display on the green this afternoon, that I only became aware this moment of my approximation to yourself."

"The shops are very gay, certainly; but I should have thought that you young gentlemen would not have cared much for the display. Now, a tailor's shop would have been much more in your taste."

"Indeed, ma'am, we came out with the express purpose of buying a silk for the Lady Louisa."

"I wonder any lady should commission you to buy any thing for her."

"Oh!" replied Frank, "I am renowned for my taste; and Hamilton is equally well qualified. Can you recommend us a good milliner, ma'am?"

"I am going to look at some bonnets," said the lady. "But, Mr. Frank, I half suspect you are quizzing. What Lady Louisa are you speaking of?"

Frank had drawn up his face into a very grave and confidential twist, when Mrs. Paget's equerry, the young gentleman before mentioned, offered his arm, and, giving Frank a withering look, warned the lady of the time.

"You are right. It is getting late," she said. "Good-bye, dear boy. Where are you now? Dr. Williams?"

"Dr. Wilkinson's, Ashfield House," said Louis.

"Henry, will you remember the address?" said the lady.

The young gentleman grunted some kind of acquiescence; and, after due adieus, Mrs. Paget walked into the shop.

"Frank, I'm ashamed of you," said Hamilton.

"I am sure," replied Frank, "I've been doing all the work; I'm a walking exhibition of entertainment for man and beast."

Hamilton would not laugh, and, finding all remonstrances unavailing, he quickened his pace and walked on in silence till they reached the music-seller's, where, after some deliberation, they obtained the requisite music, and, after a few more errands, began to retrace their steps.

The walk home was very merry. Louis, having unfastened the bundle, tried over some of the songs, and taught Frank readily the contralto of two. Then he wanted to try Hamilton, but this in the open air Hamilton stoutly resisted, though he promised to make an effort at some future time. After Frank and Louis had sung their duets several times over to their own satisfaction while sitting under a hedge, all the party grew silent: there was something so beautiful in the stillness and brightness, that none felt inclined to disturb it. At last, Louis suddenly began Eve's hymn:

"How cheerful along the gay mead The daisy and cowslip appear! The flocks, as they carelessly feed, Rejoice in the spring of the year; The myrtles that shade the gay bowers, The herbage that springs from the sod, Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flowers, All rise to the praise of my God.

"Shall man, the great master of all, The only insensible prove? Forbid it, fair gratitude's call! Forbid it, devotion and love! THEE, Lord, who such wonders canst raise, And still canst destroy with a nod, My lips shall incessantly praise, My soul shall be wrapped in my God." DR. ARNE.

Frank joined in the latter part of the first verse, but was silent in the second.

"Why did you not go on, Frank?" asked Hamilton.

"It was too sweet," said Frank. "Louis, I envy you your thoughts."

"Do you?" said Louis, looking up quickly in his cousin's face, with a bright expression of pleasure.

"When you began that song," continued Frank, "I was thinking of those lines,

'These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!'"

"'Thyself how wondrous then!'" repeated Hamilton, reverentially.

"I don't know how it is, Louis," said Frank; "in cathedrals, and in beautiful scenery, when a grave fit comes over me, I sometimes think I should like to be religious."

Louis squeezed his hand, but did not speak.

"Take care, Frank," said Hamilton with some emotion. "Be very, very careful not to mistake sentiment for religion. I am sure it is so easy to imagine the emotion excited by beauty of sight or sound, religious, that we cannot, be too careful in examining the reason of such feelings."

"But how, Hamilton?" said Frank. "You would not check such impressions?"

"No; it is better that our thoughts should be carried by beauty to the source of all beauty; but to a poetical, susceptible imagination this is often the case where there is not the least vital religion, Frank. The deist will gaze on the splendid landscape, and bow in reverence to the God of nature, but a Christian's thoughts should fly to his God at all times; the light and beauty of the scenes of nature should be within himself. When a person's whole religion consists in these transient emotions, he ought to mistrust it, Digby."

"But, dear Hamilton," said Louis, after a few minutes' silence, "we ought to be thankful when God gives us the power of enjoying the beautiful things He has made. Would it not be ungrateful to check every happy feeling of gratitude and joy for the power to see, and hear, and enjoy, with gladness and thankfulness, the loveliness and blessings around?"

"The height of ingratitude, dear Louis," said Hamilton, emphatically. "But I am sure you understand me."

"To be sure," said Louis. "Many good gifts our Almighty Father has given us, and one perfect gift, and the good gifts should lead us to think more of the perfect ONE. I often have thought, Hamilton, of that little girl's nice remark that I read to you last Sunday, about the good and perfect gifts."

Hamilton did not reply, and for a minute or two longer they sat in silence, when the report of a gun at a little distance roused them, and almost at the same instant, a little bird Louis had been watching as it flew into a large tree in front of them, fell wounded from branch to branch, until it rested on the lowest, where a flutter among the leaves told of its helpless sufferings.

"I must get it, Hamilton!" cried Louis, starting up. "It is wounded."

"The branch is too high," said Hamilton. "I dare say the poor thing is dying; we cannot do it any good."

"Indeed I must try!" exclaimed Louis, scrambling partly up the immense trunk of the tree, and slipping down much more quickly. "I wish there were something to catch hold of, or to rest one's foot against."

"You'll never get up," said Hamilton, laughing; "if you must get it, mount my shoulders."

As he spoke he came under the tree, and Louis, availing himself of the proffered assistance, succeeded in reaching and bringing down the wounded bird, which he did with many expressions of gratitude to Hamilton.

"I am sure you ought to be obliged," said Frank. "Royalty lending itself out as a ladder is an unheard-of anomaly. Pray, what are you going to do with cock-sparrow now you have got him?"

Louis only replied by laying some grass and leaves in the bottom of his cap, and putting the bird on this extempore bed. He then seized Hamilton's arm and urged him forward. Hamilton responded to Louis' anxiety with some queries on the expediency of assisting wounded birds if pleasant walks were to be thereby curtailed, and Frank, after suggesting, to Louis' horror, the propriety of making a pie of his favorite, walked on, singing,

"A little cock-sparrow sat upon a tree,"

which, with variations, lasted till they reached the playground gates, where Louis ran off to find Clifton, that he might enter into proper arrangements for due attendance on his sparrow's wants.



CHAPTER XVII.

"In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin; but he that refraineth his lips is wise."—Prov. x. 19.

"Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips."—Prov. xxvii. 2.

We are now considering Louis Mortimer under prosperity; a state in which it is much more difficult to be watchful, than in that of adversity. When he first came to school, his struggle was to be consistent in maintaining his principles against ridicule and fear of his fellow-creatures' judgment. In that he nearly failed; and then came the hard trial we have related, the furnace from whose fires he came so bright: and another trial awaited him, but different still.

By the beauty of conduct Divine grace alone had enabled him to observe, he now won the regard of the majority of his school-fellows; and no one meddled with him or his opinions. He was loved by many; liked by most, and unmolested by the rest. We are told, "When a man's ways please the Lord, even his enemies are at peace with him;" and this was Louis' case. If a few remarks were now and then made on the singularity and stiffness of his notions, the countenance of the seniors, and the general estimation in which he was held, prevented any annoyance or interference. His feet were now on smooth ground, and the sky was bright above his head; and he began to forget that a storm had ever been.

One day between school-hours, when Louis and his brother were diligently drilling the chorus, they were summoned to the drawing-room, where they found the doctor standing talking with a lady, in the large bay-window. Her face was turned towards the prospect beyond, and she did not see them enter; and near her, leaning on the top of a high-backed chair, stood a tall gentlemanly youth, whom Louis immediately recognized as Mrs. Paget's esquire. The lady was speaking as they entered, and her gentle lady-like tones fell very pleasantly on Louis' ears, and made him sure he should like her, if even the words she had chosen had been otherwise.

"I have been quite curious to see him; my sister has said so much, poor little fellow!"

Dr. Wilkinson at this moment became aware of the presence of his pupils, and, turning round, introduced them to the lady, and the lady in turn to them, as Mrs. Norman.

"I am personally a stranger to you, Master Mortimer," said Mrs. Norman; "but I have often heard of you. You know Mrs. Paget?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Louis.

"She is my sister, and, not being able to come herself to-day, she commissioned me to bring an invitation for you and your brother to spend the rest of this day with her, if Dr. Wilkinson will kindly allow it."



Louis looked at Dr. Wilkinson; and Reginald answered for himself—

"I am much obliged, ma'am; and, if you please, thank Mrs. Paget for me, but as it is not a half-holiday, I shall not be able to come this afternoon. I shall be very glad to come when school is over, if Dr. Wilkinson will allow me."

Dr. Wilkinson smiled. "Mrs. Norman will, I am sure, excuse a school-boy's anxiety to retain a hard-earned place in his class," he said. "I have given my permission, you may do as you please."

"Mrs. Paget will be so much disappointed," said Mrs. Norman; "are you anxious about your class, too, Master Louis?"

Louis blushed, hesitated, and then looked from Reginald to the doctor, but Dr. Wilkinson gave no assistance. Louis demurred a little; for he had a place to lose that he had gained only the day before, and that, probably, he might not be able to gain from Clifton for the rest of the half-year. But at length, on another persuasive remark from Mrs. Norman, he accepted the invitation in rather a confused manner; and, it being decided that Reginald was to join them at dinner, he went away to make some alteration in his dress. When he returned, Mrs. Norman carried him off in her carriage, which was waiting at the door, having first introduced him to her companion, as her son, Henry Norman.

During the ride to Clifton, Louis became very communicative. He liked Mrs. Norman very much, she was so very sweet, and now and then made little remarks that reminded Louis of home; and then he was sure she liked him; even if he had not guessed that the few words he first heard from her lips referred to him, her very kind full eyes and affectionate manner spoke of unusual interest, and Louis felt very anxious to rise in her estimation. Things that are not sinful in themselves, become sins from the accompanying motives; the desire of favor in the eyes of so excellent a person was not wrong, had it been mixed with a wish to adorn the doctrine of Christ, and thankfulness for the love and favor given; but now Louis talked of things which, though he really believed them, and of feelings which, though he had once really experienced them, were not now the breathings of a heart that overflowed with all its fulness of gratitude. He had quickness enough to see what was most precious in his new friend's sight, and tried to ingratiate himself with her, by dwelling on these subjects, and showing how much he had felt on them. Had felt, for he had "left his first love."

Let it not be supposed that Louis meant to deceive—he deceived himself as much as any one; but he was in that sad state when a Christian has backslidden so far as to live on the remembrance of old joys, instead of the actual possession of new.

The carriage stopped, at length, at a house in York Crescent, where the trio alighted. Mrs. Norman led Louis up stairs into the drawing-room, while her son, who had scarcely spoken a word during the drive, stayed a minute or two at the house-door, and then ran down the nearest flight of steps leading to the carriage-road, jumped into the carriage, which was just driving off, and paid a visit to the stables.

The room into which Louis entered was very large, and littered so with all descriptions of chairs, stools, and non-descript elegancies, that it required some little ingenuity to reach the further end without upsetting the one, or being overthrown by the others. Near one of the three windows, reclining on a sofa, was Mrs. Paget, who welcomed Louis with her usual warmth.

"You see," said she, "I am a prisoner. I sprained my ankle the very day I saw you; and I am positively forbidden to walk. But where is Master Reginald?"

Louis informed Mrs. Paget of his brother's intentions, and, after expressing her regrets at his non-appearance, the lady continued:

"Now, sit near me, and let us have a little talk; I want to hear how you are going on, and how many prizes you are likely to get. But, perhaps, my dear, you would like to go on the downs, or into the town, or to——Where's Henry, I wonder: where is Mr. Norman?" she asked of a servant who came to remove a little tray that stood beside her.

"Just gone round to the stables, ma'am."

"Dear, how unfortunate! You can't think what a beautiful little horse he has; I tell him it is quite a lady's horse. He will show it to you. I can't think how he could go away this afternoon. You'll be very dull, my dear—but my sister will take you out."

Louis assured her he should enjoy sitting with her.

"That is very kind of you; very few of your age would care about staying with a lame, fidgety, old woman."

Louis protested against the two last epithets, and as Mrs. Norman had left the room he began talking of the pleasant ride he had had with her, and how much he loved her.

Mrs. Paget warmly admitted every thing, only adding that in some things she was a little too particular.

"But, dear me! you must be very hungry," she exclaimed, interrupting herself. "How could I forget? Just ring the bell, dear boy—there's lunch down stairs. Oh, never mind, here is Charlotte."

As she spoke, Mrs. Norman re-entered, and took Louis down to lunch.

When he returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Paget had her sofa moved so as to face the window, and a little table was placed in front of her. A low armchair was near her for Louis, and another quite in the window Mrs. Norman took possession of, when she had provided herself with some work.

"Oh, what a beautiful view!" exclaimed Louis, as he looked for the first time out of the window. "How very, very beautiful! I think this is the pleasantest situation in Clifton."

"It is very beautiful," said Mrs. Norman. "But you have a magnificent prospect at Dr. Wilkinson's."

"Dr. Wilkinson's is a very nice place, I believe, is it not?" said Mrs. Paget. "It is a pity such a pretty place should be a school."

"Nay," said Mrs. Norman, smiling; "why should you grudge the poor boys their pleasure?"

"I don't think they appreciate it," said Mrs. Paget; "and, poor fellows, they are always so miserable that they might as well be miserable somewhere else."

"We are not at all miserable after the first week," said Louis.

"I thought you were not to go to school again, my dear," said Mrs. Paget.

"So I thought, myself, but papa wished me to go, and he is the best judge."

"Well, dear it's a very nice thing that you are wise enough to see it,—and you are happy?"

"I should be very ungrateful not to be so ma'am; Dr. Wilkinson and all the boys are so kind to me this half. It is so different from the first quarter spent at school."

"They are kind, are they? Well, I dare say; they couldn't help it, I'm sure," replied Mrs. Paget. "I suppose you will have the medal again this half year. I am sure you ought to have it to make up."

"Oh, but I shouldn't have it to make up for last half, ma'am," said Louis, smiling.

"But you will get it, I dare say," said the lady.

"I don't know," said Louis; "perhaps—I think I have a very good chance yet, but we never can tell exactly what Dr. Wilkinson thinks about us. There are only one or two I am afraid of."

"I should think you needn't be afraid of any," said Mrs. Paget. "I told you, Charlotte, about that story we heard at Heronhurst last summer—dear boy—you know he bore—"

"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Norman. "You have a large number of school-fellows, Master Louis," she added.

"Yes, ma'am, there are seventy-six of us this half, so many that we hardly know the names of the lower school."

"Is that M. Ferrar or Ferrers there still?" asked Mrs. Paget.

"Yes, ma'am, and he is so much improved, you cannot think."

Louis looked very earnestly at her as she spoke, and she put her hand on his forehead, stroking his hair off, while she replied,

"He is very happy in having so kind a friend, I am sure; he ought to have been expelled."

"Oh no, ma'am—I think kindness was much the best way," said Louis; and remembering how incautiously he had spoken of him before, he said all that he could in his praise.

The conversation then turned upon the school in general, and it was astonishing to watch how much Louis said indirectly in his own praise, and how nearly every thing seemed to turn in the direction of dear self, in the history of his lessons, progress, and rivals—and even when it branched off to his friends, among whom in the first rank stood Hamilton.

"You would so like Hamilton, he is so kind to me. I told you about him before," said Louis, eagerly.

"Is that the young gentleman who had charge of you the other day?" asked Mrs. Paget.

Louis answered in the affirmative.

"I did not much like him, only one doesn't judge people fairly at first, often."

"Oh, Hamilton's such a good creature!" exclaimed Louis, in his energy letting fall one end of a skein of silk he was holding. He gathered it up, apologized, and resumed his defence of his friend.

"He is, perhaps, a little blunt, but he is so sincere, and so steady and kind, Dr. Wilkinson is very, very fond of him, I know; he makes me sit by him every night, and I learn my lessons with him. I am sure if it were not for him I should be terribly behind Clifton."

"I saw them coming out of Redland Chapel yesterday morning," said Mrs. Paget. "At least I saw Mr. Hamilton, but I did not see you."

Louis informed her of the division of the school on Sunday, and she continued,

"I noticed a very aristocratic young gentleman with Mr. Hamilton—quite a contrast, so very handsome and elegant; who was he?"

"Was he tall?" asked Louis; "and dressed in black, with a light waistcoat?"

"I don't know what waistcoat he had," said Mrs. Paget, laughing. "His dress was in perfect gentlemanly taste. He was, I should think, tall for his age, and had dark hair and eyes."

"I have no doubt it was Trevannion; he is the handsomest fellow in the school, except Salisbury."

"That he is not," said Mrs. Paget, significantly.

Louis blushed, and felt rather foolish, certainly not wholly insensible to the injudicious hint.

"Only Fred Salisbury is so different: he is not elegant, and yet he is not awkward; he is rough and ready, and says all kinds of vulgar things. He is very much liked among us, but I don't think Trevannion is, though he gets his own way a great deal: he thinks nobody is equal to himself, I know, but I am sure he is not a favorite."

"Why not?" said Mrs. Paget.

"He is so very selfish, and so contemptuous, and so dreadfully offended if Hamilton does not treat him with the deference he wants. I think we know more of each other than any one else does, and no one would think, in company, when Trevannion is smiling and talking so cleverly, that he is so unamiable."

"He does not look like an ill-tempered person," said the lady.

"I don't think he is what is generally called an ill-tempered person; for he never puts himself into passions, nor does he seem to mind many things that make others very angry. But he is sometimes dreadfully disdainful and haughty when any one offends him, and especially when Hamilton seems to like anybody as well as himself. Only last Saturday he was so much affronted because Hamilton had asked leave for me to go into Bristol with him. When he found I was coming, he wouldn't go with us. I think he is very jealous of me, though I begged Hamilton to let me stay at home, and I was just going after him to call him back, only Hamilton wouldn't let me. I did not like to see such old friends quarrel. I am sure I would very gladly have stayed at home to keep peace."

"I am quite sure of that," said Mrs. Paget. "But how came your perfect Mr. Hamilton to choose such a friend?"

"I have often wondered," said Louis; "and last Saturday, when that happened that I told you of just now, and Hamilton (he is so kind) said he wouldn't give me up for anybody, he said he thought he made Trevannion his friend because he was too lazy to find another for himself."

"Too lazy to find another?" repeated Mrs. Paget.

"Hamilton does not like taking trouble, generally," said Louis; "it is his greatest fault, I think. He takes things as they come. I have often wished he would concern himself a little more about the wrong things that go on among us. You know it would be of no use my speaking about them, though I try sometimes; it is so much easier to do right when the great boys support you."

"So it is, dear," said Mrs. Paget, kindly.

Mrs. Norman had scarcely spoken during the whole conversation, though she had once or twice laid down her work and looked very gravely at Louis; but he had not noticed it; for he was so elated with himself, and the relations of his own importance at school, and the idea of his superiority above his school-fellows, that there was no room for any thing else in his head, and he went on with the firm conviction that both the ladies were, like every one else, extremely delighted and interested in him and his sentiments. There had been another auditor in the room almost ever since the beginning of the long chat, and that was Henry Norman, who, when he had seen his horse and lunched, entered the room unperceived by Louis or Mrs. Paget, and passed noiselessly along to the furthest window, where he sat, with a book, hid by the curtains from a careless glance. A few words caught his ear as he was finding out his place; and, whether the matter of the first page required deep consideration and digestion or not, we cannot pretend to determine, not knowing the nature of the chosen volume, but it is certain that that leaf was not turned over that afternoon, and the eyes that professed to convey its meaning to the mind of the reader not unfrequently wandered on the hills in the distant prospect, or, on being recalled, on the nearer objects of Mrs. Paget's sofa—the skein of silk and the pair of hands, which were the only portions visible to him of the loquacious little visitor. That he was listening with interest of an equivocal nature might be gathered from the frequent, impatient knitting of the brow, biting of the lips, and sudden laying down of the book altogether; but there he sat till Louis, having flown off from Hamilton to the general school failings, had finished relating the history of Frank Digby's memorable Saturday night's exploit, and concluded by an emphatic delivery of his upright sentiments on the heinousness of practical jokes. He paused a minute to take breath, after a Philippic that elicited a small dose of flattery from Mrs. Paget, and, with a face flushed with satisfaction and excitement, stooped to pick up a fallen pair of scissors, when Mrs. Norman, laying down her work looked again at him and uttered a sound indicative of an intention of speaking. This time Louis was fully aware of an expression in her countenance far from satisfactory, but she had not time to express her sentiments, for at this moment Reginald was announced, and a general move took place. Henry Norman came forward and welcomed him, and then took him and Louis out on the Crescent till dinner-time. Here they were joined by some of Norman's acquaintances, whom he introduced to his visitors. Louis thought uncomfortably, for a few minutes, of Mrs. Norman's look of disapprobation; but he persuaded himself that there was nothing meant by it, and soon became very lively. There was something he did not like about Norman, who, though perfectly well-bred and attentive, showed a degree of indifference and disregard to any thing he said or did, that did not altogether suit Louis' present state of mind. If Louis addressed him, he listened very politely, but with a slight, sarcastic smile, and either returned a very short and cool reply, or, if the remark did not require one, an inclination of the head, and turned immediately to one of his other companions. Reginald did not much fancy him; but, upon the whole, they managed to pass the time very pleasantly till they were summoned to dinner.

Several persons came in in the evening, and Louis was called upon by Mrs. Paget to sing, "Where the bee sucks." This led to other songs, and Louis attracted the notice of a musical gentleman, who was much pleased with him, and who gave him a general invitation to his house. Louis was in the midst of his thanks when Reginald summoned him to go home, and, in spite of Mrs. Paget's remonstrances and offers of her carriage, carried his point.

"Well, Louis, how did you get on?" said Reginald, as they were walking home; "I think you must have been dreadfully bored with holding skeins and talking fine for Mrs. Paget's edification for two hours at least, to say nothing of all the stuffing you have had this evening."

"Oh! I have been very happy," said Louis. "Do you know Mr. Fraser has invited me to his musical parties?"

"I wish you joy, I am sure. What a nice woman Mrs. Norman seems!"

"Yes," said Louis, doubtfully.

"Yes—that sounds very much like no," said Reginald.

"I did not mean it." Louis recalled her manner lately towards him, and mentally went over the conversation of the day.

"Well, what's the matter?" asked Reginald.

"I am afraid I have been very foolish; I talk so foolishly sometimes, Reginald—I said so many foolish things this afternoon. I don't think Mrs. Norman likes me."

"Rubbish! stuff and nonsense! Just like you, Louis, always imagining somebody's displeased with you—I won't hear a word more; I have no patience with you."

"Then you don't think she seemed vexed with me?"

"Not I; and if she were, what's the odds? What difference need she make in your happiness? What a wretched creature you'll make of yourself, Louis, if you think so much of the opinion of every one—a person, too, you may never see again."

Louis was relieved, and talked on other matters with his brother till they reached home. He was a little annoyed to hear that Hamilton had expressed considerable vexation at his going with Mrs. Norman before afternoon school, and this, combined with the excitement and vanity under which he labored, disturbed considerably the tranquillity of his slumbers, and prevented his earnestly seeking that aid he so much needed.



CHAPTER XVIII.

"A talebearer revealeth secrets; but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter."—Prov. xi. 13.

"He that covereth a transgression seeketh love, but he that repeateth a matter separateth very friends."—Prov. xvii. 9.

"When pride cometh, then cometh shame."—Prov. xi. 2.

"A haughty spirit goeth before a fall."—Prov. xvi. 18.

Perhaps those who have read the first part of the story of Louis Mortimer will remember that I there endeavored to explain the nature of the Christian's warfare, and that I stated that there were sad periods when the Christian, too confident in his own strength, perhaps too much inclined to exult in his victories as evincing some latent power in himself, becomes less watchful, and gradually falls back in his glorious course. It is certain, that if we do not advance we go back, and oh, how sad it is that redeemed sinners, called by so holy a name as that of Christian, should, in any degree, forget to whom they owe all their might to do well, as well as their final salvation, that they should relax, in the least, their prayers, their efforts in the strength of the Holy Spirit to press forward towards the mark of the prize of their high calling. It is not that all those who thus sadly backslide are allowed to fall into open sin. Many, by the great mercy of their Lord, are preserved from thus dishonoring His holy name and cause; but alas! too often is there a falling off in devotion, in singleness of heart, in perseverance, in watchfulness against besetting sins, when the prayers are fewer and colder, the praises fainter, and the Christian, after languishing for a time in this divided state, hardly making an effort to return, becomes conscious, to his alarm, how far he has wandered, and feels with our sweet poet, in the bitterness of his spirit,

"Where is the blessedness I knew, When first I saw the Lord? Where is the soul-refreshing view Of Jesus and His word?

"The peaceful hours I once enjoyed How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill."

For the next fortnight the singing class was indefatigable, and owing to the cultivated taste of Louis and Reginald, and the superior musical education of one or two others, among whom Mr. Witworth and Frank were not the least in importance, the members at length considered themselves competent to exhibit before an audience.

Accordingly, after Dr. Wilkinson had been favored with a specimen of their skill, his permission was obtained to invite such of their friends as they chose.

Tickets of admission, which had been prepared before-hand, were then sent out in various directions, accompanied by notes of invitation. As soon as Mrs. Paget's arrived at its destination, a most kind answer was dispatched to Louis as president, adding a request to be allowed to provide refreshment for the performers; and, as her proposal was hailed with three cheers, and gracefully accepted by Louis, on the morning of the eventful day came grapes, peaches, biscuits, and wine, which were very elegantly set out in the class-room by the committee.

The concert passed off as propitiously as could be wished. Hamilton, who, from utter want of ear, was totally incapacitated for singing, acted the part of steward with Trevannion, Meredith, and one or two others, with great decorum, and actually stood near Mrs. Paget during part of the performance, listening quietly to Louis' praises with such evident interest, that a few words of commendation he uttered quite won the lady's heart, though she had certainly been prejudiced against him before. It was remarked by some, that the doctor did not seem much pleased with Louis' manners on this occasion; for, when Mrs. Paget, between the parts, began to praise Louis' extraordinary musical talents (as she was pleased to call them), and to relate how much he pleased the company at her house, Dr. Wilkinson coolly replied, that he considered he had been well taught, but doubted his having more than an average good taste and general ability; and as his eye turned upon Louis, who was moving rather affectedly and conceitedly from rank to rank on his way to the refreshment-room, his forehead wrinkled ominously, and his lips became more tightly compressed. He was observed to watch Louis for a minute, and then turn suddenly away as if disgusted.

The madrigal concert took place about the end of the quarter, and on the following Saturday afternoon, the monotony of Ashfield House was varied by the arrival of a new scholar, in the person of Mr. Henry Norman, who was placed as a parlor boarder with the doctor.

When Hamilton and Louis returned from the playground together, they discovered this young gentleman sitting on the table, carefully balancing the doctor's chair with one of his feet, deeply immersed in the contents of a new book with only partially cut leaves, left by accident on the table. His back was turned towards them, and he was so engrossed in the twofold occupation of reading and keeping the heavy chair from falling, that he did not notice their entrance, and Louis, not recognizing his figure at first, nor knowing that he was expected, left the business of welcoming the stranger to his senior.

"Our new school-fellow, Louis, I suppose," said Hamilton, in a low tone, as he scrutinized the lengthy figure before him. "I know that fellow, Louis—he is a friend of yours."

Before Louis had time to answer, the low murmur had disturbed Norman; and, looking up without altering his position in the least, he acknowledged his acquaintance with Louis by a nod, and a careless "How do you do?"

Louis advanced directly with a warm welcome and out-stretched hand that was met by two fingers of Norman's left hand, tendered in a manner so offensive to Hamilton that he debated whether he should turn the intruder out of window, or walk himself out of the door; and concluded by drawing back in disdainful anger.

Louis was not so ready to take offence, though he was sensitive enough to feel a little hurt; and, turning round to his friend, introduced Norman to him.

Norman took a steady quick glance at Hamilton, and, though his lips were full of propriety, there was something like a sarcastic smile in his eyes.

"You are not altogether a stranger to me, Mr. Hamilton, though, I imagine, I am to you," he said, as he allowed the chair to regain its legs, and got off the table, throwing the book on another, several yards distant.

"I must confess you have the advantage of me," said Hamilton, coldly. "I was not aware that I had the honor of being known to you."

"I assure you, then, that you had that honor.—Dear me!" he added, as he threw himself into the doctor's chair, stretching out his legs to their utmost length: "absurd of me to sit on that table, when I might have initiated myself so admirably into the art of reading made easy. Comfortable chair this of Fudge's—I beg his pardon, Dr. Wilkinson's. I am so accustomed to that elegant nom du guerre that I occasionally forget myself. The old gentleman knows how to make himself comfortable; I suppose that book belongs to him. I took the liberty of cutting a few leaves."

"Which will be a peculiar satisfaction to him, doubtless," said Hamilton; "and perhaps you may have the pleasure of hearing so from his own lips."

"Verbum sat," replied Norman. "It is a peculiar gratification, Mr. Hamilton, to discover that your natural good sense is overcoming your usual disinclination to notice those things which are not comme il faut in your school-fellows, thereby depriving them of the aid of your countenance and example in their little endeavors; and I feel peculiar satisfaction in thus early becoming the recipient of the good services bestowed by the blunt sincerity and kindliness of your nature."

Hamilton crimsoned and stared; but there was nothing insolent in the tone; it was inexplicable. That something was meant he could not doubt; and presently, perceiving that Louis was uncomfortable and embarrassed, he said haughtily,

"I really am at a loss to understand you, sir; but your manner towards your friend and mine is particularly unpleasant. What you may have been used to I cannot pretend to know; but, whatever it be, you will be kind enough to remember that here we are accustomed to the society of gentlemen, and to treat each other as such."

"My dear Mr. Hamilton," said Norman, blandly, slightly moving as if to arrest Hamilton's progress towards the door, "you entirely misunderstand me. Master Mortimer and I now understand each other better. Indeed, I am laid under a weighty obligation to Master Louis for my acquaintance with your royal self and various members of your court; and could not possibly have any intention of quarrelling with so kind a benefactor. As for you, I have made up my mind to know and like you. Shake hands, will you?"

Hamilton hesitatingly touched the proffered hand, and looking at his watch at the same moment, wondered to Louis why tea was not ready.

"There's the bell!" exclaimed Louis; and seizing Hamilton's arm, he hurried off, leaving Norman to follow at his leisure, as neither Hamilton nor himself felt at all inclined to be ceremonious.

Louis felt a little afraid of Norman, though he did not exactly know why.

Norman did not follow them immediately; and Hamilton had nearly emptied his first cup of tea when he came in, in company with Trevannion and Frank Digby, the latter of whom had a marvellous facility for making acquaintances on the shortest notice. They sat down at the end of one of the three long tables, and continued laughing and talking the whole of the tea-time, after which Norman went to his own tea with the doctor.

"So, Louis, Norman's come!" exclaimed Reginald, pouncing upon his brother just as he reached the school-room door.

"Is he a friend of yours?" asked Trevannion.

"He is, and he is not. Make that riddle out at your leisure," replied Reginald, gayly.

"Oh, that settles the matter!" said Trevannion.

"What matter?" asked Louis.

A look of the most withering description was the only answer Louis received; it was enough, however, to deter him from repeating his question.

Happily, Reginald did not see it.

"How do you like our new-comer, Trevannion?" asked Hamilton, linking his arm in his friend's, preparatory to a short, after-tea turn in the playground. "There is something very peculiar about him—insolent, I think."

"He's a nice fellow, in my opinion," said Trevannion.

"A very knowing chap," said Salisbury. "Has he been here before?"

"No," said Frank Digby; "but somebody's been kind enough to give the full particulars, history, and lives, peccadilloes, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, of the gentlemen, generally, and individually, at Ashfield Academy. Why, Hamilton, he called Trevannion and Salisbury by their names, without any introduction, and is as much up to every thing here as yourself, I believe."

"I don't much fancy him," said Hamilton; "and strongly suspect he won't add much to our comfort."

"He doesn't like your pet, I suppose, then," said Trevannion, marking the slight color that rose in Hamilton's face. "He told me of your strange rencontre in the class-room; he has taken a fancy, I am sure, to you."

Hamilton did not look particularly delighted, and changed the subject to one on which he and Trevannion conversed most amicably till past their usual time for re-entering the study.

Norman did not come among them that evening till prayer-time; and, to his great satisfaction, Louis saw very little of him for the next day or two.

One day, during the first week of Norman's initiation, at the close of the morning school, a party similar in size and kind to that which had the honor of greeting Louis on his arrival the preceding half-year, was assembled on the raised end of the school-room. Frank and Salisbury were both of them seated on the top of a desk; the former, generally silent, relieved himself by sundry twists and contortions, smacking of the lips, sighs, and turnings of the eyes, varied by a few occasional thumps administered to Salisbury, who sat by him, apparently unconscious of the bellicose attitude of his neighbor, listening attentively, with a mixed expression of concern and anger on his honest countenance, to Norman, who, on this occasion, was the principal speaker. Louis was in the room, at his desk, hunting for a top; but too intent upon his search, and too far off to hear more of the topics that engrossed so much attention, than a few words that conveyed no impression to him, being simply, "Ferrers—my aunt—clever—hypocritical."

Just as he had given up all hope of finding his top, Hamilton came up to him. "Louis," said he, "if Trevannion goes out with me, I shall have time to hear your Herodotus before afternoon school, directly after dinner, mind."

"I shan't forget;—oh, Hamilton, you haven't such a thing as another top, have you? Reginald's broken two of mine, and I can't find my other."

"I do happen to have taken care of yours for you, you careless boy. Here is my desk-key, you will find it there; you can give me the key after dinner."

With many thanks, Louis proceeded to Hamilton's desk, and Hamilton went up to Trevannion, who was one of the party at the upper end of the room. Louis was now so near the speakers, as to be unavoidably within hearing of all that passed; and, astonished by the first few words, he proceeded no further in his errand than putting the key into the lock.

"Are you inclined for a walk, Trevannion?" asked Hamilton, as he reached him.

Trevannion was leaning against the doctor's desk, in a more perturbed state than his calm self usually exhibited. As Hamilton spoke, he turned round, stared, and drew himself proudly up, replying, in a tone of great bitterness, "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, but perhaps if you will take the trouble, you may find some one better suited to you than myself."

"What is the matter?" said Hamilton.

"Some of your friends appear to have better memories than yourself," replied Trevannion, folding his arms, and assuming an indifferent air; "you will, perhaps, not find mine quite so capricious; I am much obliged for all favors bestowed, Mr. Hamilton. Perhaps you considered me too lazy to look out for another friend; I am active enough, I assure you, to provide myself with one, and to release you from the irksome ties your indolence has imposed upon you."

Hamilton looked, as he was, seriously annoyed. He did not remember the expression that had given so much offence, and was quite at a loss to understand the mystery:—he looked from one to the other for explanation; at one time inclined to walk away as proudly as Trevannion could have done; at another, his more moderate feelings triumphing, urged him into an inquiry.

"I really cannot understand you," he said, at length; "do explain yourself. If I have done any thing to offend you, let me know what it is, and, if reasonable, I am willing to apologize."

Trevannion sneered. "Apologies can do little good—eh, Norman?"

"If you know what this is, Norman," said Hamilton, "I must beg you to enlighten me."

"I have no business to interfere," said Norman, carelessly.

"What a tragedy scene! What's the matter?" cried Reginald Mortimer, who came up at the moment. "You lazy-bones of a Louis! where are you?"

"The matter is simply this," said Frank Digby: "Norman has heard from a veracious source that Mr. Hamilton once said, in confidence (between you and me, you know), that the reason he retained Mr. Philip Trevannion in the rank of first bosom-friend, was because he was too lazy to look out for one better suited to his tastes: consequently, as Mr. Trevannion can aver that Mr. Hamilton never confided this matter to him, it is certain that some one has betrayed confidence reposed in him—oh, yes! oh, yes!"

"What a fuss about a nonsensical report!" exclaimed Reginald. "Do you believe it?"

"Does he deny it?" said Trevannion, tuning to Hamilton.

Hamilton's color rose; and, after a little pause, in which he carefully considered what he had said, he replied, "No, I do not deny having said something like this one day when Trevannion and I had fallen out; but how much it was more than a momentary fit of anger our long friendship ought to decide. Trevannion, we have been friends too long for such a silly thing as this to separate us. I am very sorry it should ever have escaped my lips; but if every thing we say in a moment of impatience and vexation were repeated and minded, there would be very little friendship in the world. Come, Trevannion, shake hands, and forget it for auld lang syne, as I will do when any one brings such a tale to me."

As Hamilton spoke, his eye rested on Norman, fired with indignation, and lighted a second on the principal offender, but no longer, for he did not wish to draw Louis into notice.

"It may seem a little nonsensical matter to you, Hamilton," said Trevannion, putting his hand behind him; "but these little things exhibit more than the greatest professions. I am not too lazy to cure myself of old habits, if you are."

"I never make professions," said Hamilton, proudly; "and I have done."

He was turning away, when a sudden motion from Jones arrested him. Jones had been standing silently by Trevannion, and now, leaping over a desk, seized Louis, and dragged him in the centre of the group, to the great astonishment of both himself and his brother, exclaiming:

"Here's the offender, the tell-tale, the hypocrite, the meek good boy, so anxious of Ferrers' reputation!"

"What do you want with me?" exclaimed Louis angrily, struggling to free himself from his captor.

"Hands off! Leave him alone, Jones," shouted Reginald. "What's all this about?"

"Do let him go," said Hamilton. "Can't you let him alone?"

"He's the traitor, Hamilton."

Hamilton could not deny it, for it could have been no one else.

"Well, it is past, and the punishment he has in his own feelings will be enough," he said. "Let him alone."

"Louis, you haven't been telling tales and making mischief?" cried Reginald.

"I don't know," said Louis. "I said something to Mrs. Paget, I believe—I didn't know there was any harm. Hamilton didn't say he didn't want any thing said about it."

"Didn't say!" echoed Jones, scornfully.

Hamilton's look was more in reproach than anger. Louis felt struck to the heart with shame and anger; but so much had he lately been nursed in conceit and self-sufficiency, that he drove away the better impulse; and, instead of at once acknowledging himself in the wrong and begging pardon, he stood still, endeavoring to look unconcerned, repeating, "I didn't mean any harm."

"Oh, Louis!" exclaimed Reginald, reproachfully, "I didn't think you could."

"Let the boy go, Jones," said Hamilton, trying to remove the grasp from Louis' shoulders.

"Not so fast, an't please your majesty," said Jones: "I like to see hypocrites unmasked. Here, gentlemen, forsooth, here in this soonified youth, the anxious warden of Ferrers' reputation, you see the young gentleman who not only tells the story, but gives the name of the party concerned to a dear, good, gossiping soul—"

"Gently, gently there, Jones," remarked Norman.

"A gossiping old soul," repeated Jones, "who'd have the greatest delight in retailing the news, with decorations and additions, all over the kingdom with the greatest possible speed."

"I don't believe a word of that, Jones," said Reginald. "It is impossible!"

"What! is it impossible?" asked Jones, giving Louis a shake.

"What business have you to question me?"

"Did you?" repeated Jones, with another shake.

"Fair questioning, Jones," cried Reginald. "No coercion, if you please."

"Hold him back, Mason, if you please. Norman, will you hold him back? Now, Louis, if you don't answer I'll give you a thrashing."

"You and I are friends, Mortimer," said Salisbury, jumping off the desk and coming close up to Reginald; "but I mean to have fair play in this matter. He shan't be hurt—but, if you interfere till they've done questioning him, I shall help them to hold you back."

"Don't meddle with it, Salisbury," said Hamilton; "it's nobody's affair."

"Nobody's affair, indeed!" exclaimed Frank. "Here we've been making a cher ami, a rara avis, or something or other of this boy, because he professed to be something superior to us all—and now, when we find he has been telling tales of all of us, we are told it's nobody's affair. He's been obtaining credit upon false pretences. We're the strongest party, and we'll do what we please."

Reginald restrained himself with a violent effort, and Jones proceeded.

"Now, sir, answer directly—is this impossible?"

Louis felt very much inclined to cry, but he replied without tears very reluctantly, "Mrs. Paget would make me tell her some things—she had heard almost all from others. I don't know how the name slipped out; I didn't mean to tell, I am sure."

"WHAT?" said Hamilton; "you tell that story, Louis!"

Louis felt that Hamilton despised him; and perhaps, had they known all the circumstances relative to the Heronhurst disclosure, the clamor would not have been so great; so much evil is done by repeating a small matter, exaggerated, as these repetitions usually are, according to the feelings of the speaker. But in every case now bearing so unexpectedly down upon him, had Louis, thoughtless of himself, been less anxious for admiration, he would not have committed himself; had he not attracted Norman's attention by his folly and conceit, the circumstance of his having disclosed the name of the offender, at Heronhurst, would, most probably, not only have been unknown to his school-fellows, but to Norman also.

"Oh, Hamilton, I didn't tell all the story!" he exclaimed.

"No, only just enough to appear magnanimous," said Frank.

"Seeing that such is the case," continued Jones, "it cannot be a matter of great astonishment, that the same meek crocodile should also deliver to the same tender mercy various particulars of minor import respecting sundry others of his school-fellows; among which, we discover the private conversation of an intimate and too indulgent friend. Upon my word, young gentleman, I've a great mind to make you kiss Ferrers' shoes. Where's Ferrers?"

Jones turned round with his victim towards the door, perceiving that Ferrers was not in the room, but neither Hamilton nor Reginald would permit matters to proceed further.

"Let him go," said Norman; "it is not worth while taking so much trouble about it. You know whom you have to deal with, and will be careful."

"Thanks to you," said Hamilton in a tone of the most cutting irony.

He released Louis, and stood still till he saw him safely in the playground, whither he was followed by the hisses and exclamations of his inquisitors, and then turned in the opposite direction to the class-room.

"Mr. Hamilton!" exclaimed Norman, "may I ask what your words meant just now?"

"You may," said Hamilton, turning round and eyeing the speaker from head to foot, with the most contemptuous indifference. "You are at liberty to put whatever construction you please upon them; and perhaps it will save trouble if I inform you at once that I never fight."

"Then, sir," said Norman, whose anger was rising beyond control, "you should weigh your words a little more cautiously, if you are so cowardly."

Hamilton deigned no reply, and proceeded to the class-room, where he shut himself up, leaving the field clear for Reginald, who, before long, was engaged in a pitched battle with Norman.

Louis retreated to his play-fellows who were yet unconscious of his disgrace with the higher powers; and, after playing for a little while, wandered about by himself, too uneasy and sick at heart to amuse himself. He found now, alas! that he was alone; that he had lost all pleasure in holy things; and, conscious of his falling away, he was now afraid to pray,—foolish boy. And thus it is—Satan tempts us to do wrong, and then tempts us to doubt God's willingness to forgive us, in order that, being without grace and strength, we may fall yet deeper.

As Louis wandered along, he heard sounds familiar enough to him, which portended a deadly fray, and when he came upon the combatants, he discovered that one of them was his own brother. He knew it was useless to attempt to stop the fight, and he wandered away again, and cried a little, for he thought that something would happen, and he and Reginald would be placed together in some unpleasant situation; and he dreaded Dr. Wilkinson's hearing of either affair.

I must be excused for stopping my story to remark here, that in this world, it is certain that we have great influence on one another, and that for this influence we are responsible. Had Louis' school-fellows acted more kindly, endeavoring to set before him the fault of tattling, the effect would have been to raise a feeling of gratitude in his mind, which would have been far more effectual in preventing the recurrence of the fault, than the plan of repudiation they had adopted. Had they, even after a day or two's penance, given him an opening into their good graces, he would not have felt, as he did, that he had lost his character, and it was "no use caring about it," and so gone from bad to worse, till his name was associated with those of the worst boys in the school. It may be said, How can school-boys be expected to have so much consideration? but this a school-boy may do. He may mentally put himself in the position of the delinquent, and considering how he would wish to be treated, act accordingly.

Every thing seemed to go wrong with Louis that day. The Herodotus that Hamilton was to have heard, was scarcely looked at; and Louis lost two or three places in his class. Hamilton never noticed him, and even Reginald was offended with him. Louis tried to brave it out, and sung in a low tone, whistled, and finally, when he was roughly desired to be quiet, walked into the school-room, and finished his evening with Casson and Churchill.



CHAPTER XIX

"Be not deceived; evil communications corrupt good manners."—1 Cor. xv. 32.

For the next few days Louis was regularly sent to Coventry, and though Hamilton took no part in any thing that was said against him, his manner had so entirely changed, and his tone was so cold when he addressed or answered him, that Louis needed no further demonstration to feel assured of the great difference in the feeling with which he was regarded. Clifton alone remained unchanged, but he was so much absorbed in his dear classics that he had hardly time to notice that any thing was the matter: and as Reginald, thoroughly disappointed, was also highly displeased with his brother, Louis was either thrown entirely upon his own resources, or driven to seek the society of the lower school; and, as he was in a very unhappy state, and could not bear to be left alone, he naturally chose the latter. For the first two days he struggled to assume an independent air, and, changing his place of his own accord from Hamilton to Clifton, talked incessantly, though nearly unheeded by the latter, to show how perfectly well able he was to do his own business without assistance. Hamilton missed him, and glanced down the table with a gaze of mingled disappointment and displeasure. A few words from him might have recalled Louis, but they were not spoken, and the only impression conveyed to the poor truant was, that the friend he most cared about, in common with the rest, considered him beneath his notice.