was an exemplification of the
old proverb, "A rolling stone gathers no moss." He had sought his
fortune about the world, without ever finding it, being a thing oftener
found at home than abroad. He had been in all kinds of situations, and
had learned a dozen different modes of making a living; but had found
his way back to his native village rather poorer than when he left it,
his knapsack having dwindled down to a scanty bundle.

As luck would have it, the squire was passing by the farm-house that
very evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found the two
schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and, according to the good old
Scottish song, "taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne." The
squire was struck by the contrast in appearance and fortunes of these
early playmates. Ready-Money Jack, seated in lordly state, surrounded by
the good things of this life, with golden guineas hanging to his very
watch chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thin as a weasel, with all
his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, and walking-staff, lying on the
ground beside him.

The good squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmopolite, for he
is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. He cast about
in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby in his
native village. Honest Jack had already offered him a present shelter
under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and half remonstrances
of the shrewd Dame Tibbets; but how to provide for his permanent
maintenance was the question. Luckily the squire bethought himself that
the village school was without a teacher. A little further conversation
convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for that as for anything 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 spring-time. 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