plum cake, recently baked, and a pot of mixed pickles, with "Affection's Offering" scrawled inside the wrapper. And then all the presents, except the gold lever, were hastily taken off to be packed; and the Rector placed the watch in Mr. Adolphus's hands, but without the appropriate speech he had intended to make-which, everything considered, was quite as well; and our hero said, "Thank you, Fa," for he was in the habit of calling his father "Fa." And then the roll of wheels outside on the gravel drive was heard, and the carriage drew up at the door, and the luggage was all put in-not forgetting the two hampers of wine, which were carefully stowed away in front.

Everything being thus completed, Mr. Golightly's family escorted him to the door of his ancestral abode; and, having all cordially embraced him, bade him farewell and blessed him thus:

"Good-bye," said Miss Dorothea; "and never forget you are a Golightly, and that your own cousin, four times removed, is grandnephew to an-"

And "Good-bye," said Aunt Harriet; "and be sure you use your tea-cosey."

"And mind," said Mr. Morgan, "you sometimes read your-" and the good man blushed as he recollected that had been his present, lest he should seem to be reminding his pupil of that, when all he meant was his good.

"And be sure you take to your new flannels if the weather gets cold," said his mother.

And both the Miss Golightlys together said, "Write to us directly you get there."

And as he jumped into the family carriage he heard his father saying, in becomingly solemn tones, "Be a man of the world."

And his mamma's voice chiming in, "Like your dear Fa."

And he was gone-round to the Hall, to call for his cousin George.

Then the family returned slowly to the breakfast-room, and sat themselves down in gloomy silence. The first thing that occurred to break it was a remark from Mrs. Golightly to the effect that "there was something very supporting about a glass of sherry;" continuing, that she felt "shaken." A glass of sherry was instantly brought her, and was found to relieve her somewhat.

For his part, the Rector took an early opportunity of marching off to his study,

where he sat down to Bacon's "Aphorisms," and Lord Chesterfield's celebrated "Letters," with a view to preparing himself, from those brilliant models, for a thorough course of improving epistolary correspondence with his son. His mind, I must say, wandered a little from his authors, and his imagination began to play; thereby enabling him to picture, in a lively and pleasing manner, all sorts of impossible honours, prizes, and distinctions that were to fall in after-life to the lot of his son-a brilliancy which might be reflected upon him, and brighten his declining years with a resplendent though borrowed lustre. Imagination, too, carried him on, and suggested the possibility of "Letters from the Rector of Oakingham to his Son at the University:" London. The good man hesitated between the claims of several rival publishers. And, finally, the Rector composed himself steadily for the study of Bacon.

We are not always best at what we think we excel in. I know the Rector thought his vocation in life should have been the statesman's. The character he most admired was the clever, ready, keen-witted man of the world. I know he always regretted that his brother could never be induced to stand for Fuddleton.

Had he had the chance! Ah! poor, dear, simple Rector, you would have been food for the fishes. Yet you want Samuel Adolphus to be a man of the world; of course, on a good, sound, scriptural basis, but still—

I recollect the reverend gentleman whipped all the family off to the Isle of Wight once, at twelve hours' notice, because he had just read in a book from Mudie's that a Sir John Somebody, when he was asked when he should be ready to start for India, replied "To-morrow."

The Rector seized the idea. Poor Mrs. Golightly asked to go to the seaside. The Rector said "To-morrow," and meant it. This he thought was decision of character, energy on a magnificent scale, and so forth.

Poor man, when he found the only razor he could shave with and all his clean pockethandkerchiefs were left behind, with half the other things, he was obliged to keep his temper and bear it. Now, when the family leave home, a week's notice is always given, at the sacrifice of energy, decision of character, and sentiment generally.

But to return, from the author of his existence, to our hero himself.

During the ten minutes' drive from the Rectory to the Hall, he felt the pain of a tender heart and affectionate disposition at leaving the bosom of his family, even for the comparatively short period of seven weeks; but he had no sooner arrived at the door of the Hall, and taken on board his sprightly cousin George, than, speedily recovering his usual flow of spirits, he was able to exchange salutations with his uncle, his aunt, and his cousin Arabella, with some show of composure. Mr. George Golightly's luggage-which was of much smaller dimensions than our hero's-being safely fixed on the top of the carriage, they drove off, waving their adieux to their affectionate relatives. And it was lucky that the Rectory carriage was a strong, old-fashioned vehicle, of the species family coach, and not one of those elegant equipages which the "admirers of light carriages" delight to possess, or it never would have stood a ten miles' journey over such roads as lay between Oakingham and the railway station at Fuddleton, with such a weight upon it as it had to carry on this occasion. However, it did perform it, and did its work rather better than the horses did theirs; for if two minutes more had been occupied on the way, the train would have started without the distinguished passengers inside.

These two Rectory carriage horses always seemed to know-by a sort of intuition, remarkable but unerring-when they were going to Fuddleton; and, as it was a journey they did not in any way approve of, went rather more slowly than was their wont on other journeys. Their best pace was about six miles an hour, but they did not do the Fuddleton course in much under two hours; being fat, sleek animals, and better adapted for "staying" than for the "T. Y. C." busi"Sprint races," as Mr. George had often remarked, were not in their line.

ness.

The two gentlemen sat on the back seat, with their faces to the horses. With the appearance of Mr. Samuel Adolphus our readers are already acquainted. His cousin, Mr. George, was a smart, well-looking young man, and one of the leaders of fashion in the ancient University of which he was a bright ornament. His manners were dashing, his talk lively, and-without a doubt-his clothes were of the latest mode. The Leger had been decided in the "Vac;" and he was occupied some time in adjusting "his book" upon that event, and making a list, in me

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tallic pencil, at the end, of what he had to draw and to pay over it; and, when he had done that, he had to swallow his hebdomadal dose of Bell's Life-Beil does not reach Oakingham Park till Monday mornings; so conversation did not take place to any great extent between the two gentlemen during the first part of their journey. I know, at this time, Mr. George Golightly considered his cousin Samuel's conversation slow. Every now and then, however, he looked up from his paper to grumble at the pace they were going, and declare in strong language that "he'd be blowed if those old pigs would ever get them there within an hour of the time."

And our hero, of course, took the opportunity, every time it offered, of consulting his new watch; and it was not kind of George to say that, "If he had got a smarter ticker than other people, he need not be for ever pulling it in and out of his pocket."

However, Mr. Samuel was used to his cousin's playful way, and made himself as happy as he could with his sandwiches and cherry brandy, and tried to think the "Cambridge Guide was really interesting reading.

At last they arrived at the station, and as they drove up they were overtaken by a smart drag from Fendre Abbey, Lord Shovelle's seat; and in it were two gentlemen, the Honourable John Pokyr-my lord's second son-and a college friend who had been spending some days with him, Mr. Calipash Calipee, a native of India-son of Bobadjee Rumwalla Fustijee, the well-known converted prince and banker of Madras. They were accompanied by two servants, a smooth-haired terrier, a bulldog, two horses, and a considerable amount of heavy luggage; to say nothing of bundles of whips, sticks, and canes, rugs, and other paraphernalia.

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"By jingo!" cried Mr. Pokyr, giving the Indian gentleman what is vulgarly but expressively styled a dig in the ribs. "Why, that's old Golightly and his cousin Samuel in the family shay. Gad, this is a go! Why, we shall all go up together."

"We may meet with an accident, and never get there," said Calipash Calipee, slowly recovering his power of articulate speech.

This gentleman, familiarly known as "the nigger," was very dark, stout, and melancholy; and had a habit of making his so