ent in
the man's. His character was gradually writing itself out in his
countenance. That he was watching his own career with deeper and deeper
interest, that he continually 'heard his days before him,' and cared to
hear little else, might have been hazarded from what was seen there. His
ambitions were, in truth, passionate, yet controlled; so that the germs
of many more plans than ever blossomed to maturity had place in him; and
forward visions were kept purposely in twilight, to avoid distraction.

Events so far had been encouraging. Shortly after assuming the
mastership of his first school he had obtained an introduction to the
Bishop of a diocese far from his native county, who had looked upon him
as a promising young man and taken him in hand. He was now in the second
year of his residence at the theological college of the cathedral-town,
and would soon be presented for ordination.

He entered the town, turned into a back street, and then into a yard,
keeping his book before him till he set foot under the arch of the latter
place. Round the arch was written 'National School,' and the stonework
of the jambs was worn away as nothing but boys and the waves of ocean
will wear it. He was soon amid the sing-song accents of the scholars.

His brother Cornelius, who was the schoolmaster here, laid down the
pointer with which he was directing attention to the Capes of Europe, and
came forward.

'That's his brother Jos!' whispered one of the sixth standard boys. 'He's
going to be a pa'son, he's now at college.'

'Corney is going to be one too, when he's saved enough money,' said
another.

After greeting his brother, whom he had not seen for several months, the
junior began to explain his system of teaching geography.

But Halborough the elder took no interest in the subject. 'How about
your own studies?' he asked. 'Did you get the books I sent?'

Cornelius had received them, and he related what he was doing.

'Mind you work in the morning. What time do you get up?'

The younger replied: 'Half-past five.'

'Half-past four is not a minute too soon this time of the year. There is
no time like the morning for construing. I don't know why, but when I
feel even too dreary to read a novel I can translate--there is something
mechanical about it I suppose. Now, Cornelius, you are rather
behindhand, and have some heavy reading before you if you mean to get out
of this next Christmas.'

'I am afraid I have.'