riper years, I felt no inclination to speak; even had I not been "unaccustomed to public speaking." As I look back now, I feel perhaps even more strongly than I did then ; and were I at this moment called upon now to express all I felt then, and all I now think, I would only quote the following lines from Burns:

"Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care!

Time but the impression deeper makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear."

and I fear that my voice would falter before I reached the end of the stanza.

CHAPTER XXIII.

I LEAVE HARBY FOR EVER,

"This let me hope, that when in public view
I bring my pictures, men may feel them true;
'This is a likeness' may they all declare,
'And I have seen him, but I know not where :'
For I should mourn the mischief I had done,
If as the likeness all would fix on one."

CRABBE.

So this is to be my last day at school. I am to part from all the Harby fellows, and to break away from kind friends and dear associations. The half-year-my final half-year—is at an end : the holidays begin to-morrow. Yet a few hours,

and I become a man. How much would I then have given to have remained ever a boy! The passages are full of boxes; every one is packing up; fagging has ceased for the last week; every one is merry, for in every other mind the plea

sure of going home is not alloyed by the pain of parting. Home seems to have almost lost its wonted influence, and now I feel as if Harby were home to me.

The hall is full of happy fellows, some standing on the benches, others sitting on the tables; joyous voices resound of friends one will never meet with more, and companions one will never hear of again. That fair-faced boy whose mind is intent on cutting his initials on the dark oak wainscoting, is destined for the East India Company's service. Shall I ever hear that merry laugh again, or watch those bright blue eyes full of fun and happiness? Perhaps ere then a random bullet from an Affghan musket, or a blow from a Sikh tulwar, or more probably some damp marsh fever, will have hushed that laugh, and dimmed those eyes for ever. And that fine handsome youth who bears the stamp of high birth on his forehead, and looks as if he had really descended from the Crusader whom he boasts to have been his ancestor shall I first see his name as seconding the address in a well-delivered maiden speech in the House of Peers, or as receiving a well-merited

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wigging" from the Commissioner of Bankruptcy as he passes through the Insolvent Court?

Indulging in such melancholy musings I roamed about, dispersing all my household gods among my many friends; leaving this picture on one study table, and that vase or chimney ornament on another. How dear to me each had become! That beautiful engraving of the Madonna della Seggiola, is a kind of heir-loom in the house: ten years it has been left by each parting fellow to his dearest friend. Beautiful as Raffaelle's chef d'œuvre undoubtedly is, somehow I thought oftener of the little print hanging up in the Harby study than of the splendid original, as I sat for hours watching that almost living countenance; and now, having enjoyed the possession of it for two years, I must select some one to hand it down for one generation more.

"Take

Edwards gave it to me when he left: care of it old fellow," said he: "Miles gave it me three years ago. Poor Miles! He was shot at Moodkee, you know. Langford gave it him the half I came. I was Langford's fag, you remember: he was the jolliest fellow we ever knew at Harby."

Thus the Madonna became mine; and I really believe no K. G. ever felt prouder of his insignia, than I did when I hung up that picture over my study fire-place. No one had dared to reframe it since it was originally purchased, and it looked faded and old, among the gay hunting scenes which covered the walls; but I well knew that not one of his many Lares and Penates would be more fondly worshipped by the schoolfellow who received it from me. Two years afterwards I searched all London for a similar print, without success. The one now in my dining-room may be better for a connoisseur's taste; but bears only a slight resemblance to that gauge of friendship handed down from friend to friend for three generations of schoolboys.

Each china ornament, every well-bound book, had been promised to various friends since the beginning of the half; and my only regret was, how few were the things I could give to the many friends with whom I wished to leave a token of remembrance. My study was to be occupied by a boy whom I hardly knew; so I had no compunction whatever in denuding it of all its orna