ately, he said, to be called to the Bar, because that was
equivalent to leaving your future career still enveloped in mystery for
many years.

I do not know that I have very much to say about Thornton. He was a very
estimable young man. I think he was the only one of the party who might
say with a clear conscience that he did some work for his "coach." He
was not short, nor tall, nor good-looking, nor very rich, nor very poor.
He was of plebeian origin. His father was a grocer. I am sure the young
man had been well brought up at home, and had been well taught at school;
and he was a brave, frank, honest fellow enough, but there was withal a
certain common or commonplace way with him. He acquitted himself well at
cricket and football; and I have no doubt he will succeed in life, and be
most respectable, but on the whole very uninteresting.

The present writer is one of the most handsome, most amiable, and most
witty of men; but if there is one vice more than another at which his
soul revolts, it is the sin of egotism. Else the world would here have
become the possessor of one of the most eloquent pages in literature. It
is said that artists, who paint their own portraits, make a mere copy of
their image in the looking glass. For my part, if I had to draw my own
likeness, I would scorn such paltry devices. The true artist draws from
the imagination. Let any man think for a moment what manner of man he
is. Is he not at once struck with the fact that he is not as other men
are--that he is not extortionate, nor unjust, and so forth? But, in
truth, if I were to paint my own portrait, I know there are fifty fools
who would think I meant it for themselves; and as I cannot tolerate
vanity in other people, I will say no more about it.

So at length here at Babbicombe were the coach, harness, drag, and team
duly arrived, and settled for six weeks or more, in a fine large house,
far above the deep blue ocean, and far removed from all the turmoil and
bustle of this busy world. Wonderful truly are the happiness and
privileges of young men, if they only knew how to enjoy them wisely.

"I think it is somewhat unthoughtful, to say the least of it," said Mrs.
Porkington to Glenville, "that Mr. Porkington should have taken a house
so very far from the beach. He knows how I adore the sea."

"Perhaps he is jealous of it on that account," said Glenville.

The Drag said she believed he would be jealous of anything. For her