enlivat apologized; if the young nobleman had kicked
him round the court, I believe the tutor would have been happy, so that
an apology and a reconciliation might subsequently ensue. 'My lord,'
said he, 'in your conduct on this and all other occasions, you have
acted as becomes a gentleman; you have been an honour to the University,
as you will be to the peerage, I am sure, when the amiable vivacity of
youth is calmed down, and you are called upon to take your proper share
in the government of the nation.' And when his lordship took leave of
the University, Hugby presented him with a copy of his 'Sermons to a
Nobleman's Family' (Hugby was once private tutor to the Sons of the
Earl of Muffborough), which Glenlivat presented in return to Mr. William
Ramm, known to the fancy as the Tutbury Pet, and the sermons now figure
on the boudoir-table of Mrs. Ramm, behind the bar of her house of
entertainment, 'The Game Cock and Spurs,' near Woodstock, Oxon.

At the beginning of the long vacation, Hugby comes to town, and puts up
in handsome lodgings near St. James's Square; rides in the Park in the
afternoon; and is delighted to read his name in the morning papers among
the list of persons present at Muffborough House, and the Marquis of
Farintosh's evening-parties. He is a member of Sydney Scraper's Club,
where, however, he drinks his pint of claret.

Sometimes you may see him on Sundays, at the hour when tavern doors
open, whence issue little girls with great jugs of porter; when
charity-boys walk the streets, bearing brown dishes of smoking shoulders
of mutton and baked 'taturs; when Sheeny and Moses are seen smoking
their pipes before their lazy shutters in Seven Dials; when a crowd of
smiling persons in clean outlandish dresses, in monstrous bonnets and
flaring printed gowns, or in crumpled glossy coats and silks that bear
the creases of the drawers where they have lain all the week, file down
High Street,--sometimes, I say, you may see Hugby coming out of the
Church of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, with a stout gentlewoman leaning
on his arm, whose old face bears an expression of supreme pride and
happiness as she glances round at all the neighbours, and who faces the
curate himself and marches into Holborn, where she pulls the bell of a
house over which is inscribed, 'Hugby, Haberdasher.' It is the mother of
the Rev. F. Hugby, as proud of her son in his white choker as Cornelia
of her jewels at Rome. That is old Hugby bringing up