s on the collars of his well-made coats;
and, having heard from my father that I, too, was a poet, he declared
himself eager to welcome me, not only as a disciple, but also as a
valued friend. Mr. Philpot lived at Littlehampton, where he occupied a
most capacious house. It was the principal house in a very old-fashioned
terrace, which faced a sandy common, and enjoyed in those days an
uninterrupted view of miles of beach and the racing waves of the sea.
Mr. Philpot's disciples numbered from ten to twelve. They had, for the
most part, been removed from Harrow or Eton, by reason of no worse fault
than a signal inclination to indolence; and though, even under their
preceptor's genial and scholarly auspices, none of them except myself
showed much inclination for study, we formed together an agreeable and
harmonious party, much of its amenity being due to the presence of Mrs.
Philpot, his wife, whose brother, Professor Conington, was then the most
illustrious representative of Latin learning at Oxford.

We enjoyed, under Mr. Philpot's care, the amplest domestic comforts, and
we enjoyed, under our own care, almost unlimited credit at every shop in
the town. We had carriages, the hire of which went down in Mr. Philpot's
account, whenever we wanted them for expeditions; and we would often
drive out in the warm after-dinner twilights to a tea garden three miles
away, where we lingered among the scent of roses till the bell of some
remote church tower sounded, through the dewy quiet, its nine notes to
the stars. We had boats on the Arun, a stream on which our oars would
take us sometimes beyond Amberly, and not bring us back till midnight.
On other occasions we would, like Tennyson's hero, "nourish a youth
sublime" in wandering on the nocturnal beach, and, pre-equipped with
towels, would bathe in the liquid moonlight.

The Littlehampton season, so far as visitors were concerned, was summer,
and from the middle of May onward various ladies of ornamental and
interesting aspect would make their appearance on the pavement of Beach
Terrace, or, seen on the balconies of houses which had just unclosed
their shutters, would trouble and enliven the atmosphere with
suggestions of vague adventures. Some of these we came to know, as Mr.
Philpot and his wife had many mundane acquaintances. Others--and indeed
most of them--remained tantalizing mysteries to the end. At all events
they filled the air with the subtle pollen of a romance which a c