Smith walked away; but I presently ran after him, exclaiming, “But is there really nothing that I can do for you? You have not answered my question yet. Oh! do say 'Yes;' I am dying to make myself of use."

"Then," said Smith, "I will save your life. You shall do something for me, Doveton."

"Oh! I am so glad!" and my face brightened up as I spoke." What is it that I can do for you, Smith ?"

"Go and play at cricket-'twill do you and my monitor walked away, smiling.

good;"

Yet, in spite of all this-in spite of Smith's admonitions,—in spite of the restraining influence of his never-ending good sense, which fell upon my enthusiasm like water upon a blazing fire, my heart ceased not to be the home of infinite and unsatisfied longings. It is true, that, at the suggestion of my monitor, I abandoned my poetical studies; but I gained nothing by the abandonment. On the contrary, my poor soul, thus deprived of its accustomed aliment, felt more craving than it had ever felt before. Deprived of books, I had more time to dream. I no longer held communion with the ideal creations of the poet, but with imaginary beings of my own creating. I made a world, and I peopled it myself with a number of beautiful abstractions; and I quite forgot that Smith had ever said to me, "Take care that you don't become a visionary."

Sometimes-but this was not very often -I would look around me, and endeavour to absorb myself in the goings-on of the visible world. I do not think that I saw things aright; my mind was enveloped with a peculiar atmosphere-a misty one-and whatever it looked upon, wore an aspect undefined and shadowy. Seen through this delusive medium, palpable realities became dim abstractions. I beheld qualities, and not personsfeelings, and not actions-wide principles, and not narrow details. I had a sort of language of my own; and I thought of my school-fellows, not by their proper names, but by the distinguishing characteristics of their idiosyncracies. Thus one was Gentleness, another Anger, a third Genius, and

so on.

These far-off contemplations, in which I sometimes indulged, were not wholly unproductive of delight; for in looking around me and tracing the various principles which appeared to actuate my different school-fellows, I discovered, to my infinite joy, that good was more abundant than evil amongst them, and that though they might sometimes go astray it was much more frequently a wrong judgment than a bad heart, which misled them. Indeed there seemed to be every where a vast deal of good feeling. Kindness, generosity, gentleness and forbearance glittered, wherever I turned my eyes, like stars upon a cloudless night;

.

I sought for good and I found it (as who may not?) and having found it I rejoiced. But it was not enough for me to behold it from afar off; I longed to enjoy it palpably-to commune with it face to face-to find it all in a friend. But when I thought of this I despaired; I was afraid to approach nearer, for many objects, which look beautiful at a distance, are but tawdry and uncouth things, when we draw nigh unto them; and I knew it. "No; no," said I--"let me dream on-my yearnings must still be unsatisfied. I must rest content with the shadow, for the substance can never be mine,"

One day after a conversation with Smith, which had extended to an unusual length, I began seriously to ask myself whether the strange life I was leading was that of a philosopher or a fool. After one of these colloquies with Smith, some specimens of which I have laid before the reader, my reflections were wont always to assume a somewhat more mundane tone and ceased, perhaps for a full hour, from communing with the invisible world. Upon the present occasion I grovelled more than usual; I pondered over Smith's words and compared the calm sobriety of his doctrines with the vagrant nature of my wild imaginings, until I began almost to think that he was the greater philosopher of the two. "There is no wisdom," said I, "in yearning after impossible things. I will content

myself with that which is ;" and I began to look around me for the actual.

At this period I had been a year at Dr. Goodenough's, and had not yet suited myself with a friend. I well remember this particular morning. It was spring-time; the air was fresh; the skies were bright; and we were abroad in the meadows. The cricket-season had not yet commenced, and we were enjoying our daily walk in the country-some here and some there, wandering at will, and making the most of our brief season of liberty. When Smith left me, I was alone; and without any definite intention, I turned my steps towards the

river.

As I went I was overtaken by a school-fellow, a boy of about my own age, whose name was Hawker. In my catalogue, where qualities stood for persons, he was typified by the title of buoyancy, or some word synonymous with this; for in those days I dealt more largely in ideas than I did in language, and my brain was ever teeming with fancies, which I could not have expressed in words. This boy was the very soul of levity; there were none so light-hearted as he, none blessed with such exuberant spirits, none so heedless, none so short-sighted, none so happy. He lived but in the present moment; the past, the future, were nothing to him. Hope and its twinbrother fear and memory disturbed him not; he

enjoyed life; he found blessings everywhere; he hated no one, he vexed no one, and he "went upon his way rejoicing."

"Come, Doveton-come along with me," cried the boy, panting as he spoke, for he had bounded across the meadow with the fleetness of a young fawn. "I know where a moor-hen's nest is to be found. Come with me, and we will take it."

Smith's words were still ringing in my ears; he had exhorted me to act more, and I thought that there could not be a better opportunity than this of testifying my faith in his doctrines.

"That I will-you are a good fellow, Hawker, come along," and off we started.

We ran as hard as we could, and had presently reached the river's edge. "This is the place," cried Hawker; and taking up a large stone, he threw it amongst the rushes, and the old bird started up and flew across the river.

But it was not quite so easy, as we had anticipated that it would be, to take possession of the nest. Hawker had a stick in his hand, and with this he endeavoured to reach it, but in vain. At length, straining forward, with a last desperate effort, he over-reached himself, and fell headlong into the water.

The river was very deep in this place; this I knew, and accordingly I was much frightened when I saw Hawker disappear beneath the surface