g else, and in a day or two he was seen swaying the rod
of empire in the very school-house where he had often been horsed in
the days of his boyhood.

Here he has remained for several years, and, being honoured by the
countenance of the Squire, and the fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he
has grown into much importance and consideration in the village. I am
told, however, that he still shows, now and then, a degree of
restlessness, and a disposition to rove abroad again, and see a little
more of the world; an inclination which seems particularly to haunt
him about springtime. There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the
vagrant humour, when once it has been fully indulged.

Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I have more than
once mused upon the picture presented by him and his schoolmate,
Ready-Money Jack, on their coming together again after so long a
separation. It is difficult to determine between lots in life, where
each one is attended with its peculiar discontents. He who never
leaves his home repines at his monotonous existence, and envies the
traveller, whose life is a constant tissue of wonder and adventure;
while he who is tossed about the world, looks back with many a sigh to
the safe and quiet shore which he has abandoned. I cannot help
thinking, however, that the man that stays at home, and cultivates the
comforts and pleasures daily springing up around him, stands the best
chance for happiness. There is nothing so fascinating to a young mind
as the idea of travelling; and there is very witchcraft in the old
phrase found in every nursery tale, of "going to seek one's fortune."
A continual change of place, and change of object, promises a
continual succession of adventure and gratification of curiosity. But
there is a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears its
death in its very gratification. Curiosity languishes under repeated
stimulants, novelties cease to excite surprise, until at length we
cannot wonder even at a miracle.

He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor Slingsby, full of
sunny anticipations, finds too soon how different the distant scene
becomes when visited. The smooth place roughens as he approaches; the
wild place becomes tame and barren; the fairy tints that beguiled him
on, still fly to the distant hill, or gather upon the land he has left
behind; and every part of the landscape seems greener than the spot he
stands on.

THE SCHOOL.