lad my father overtasked me as a boy--otherwise,
likely enough I should have acquiesced in the swindle, and might have
written as good a copy of Alcaics about the dogs of the monks of St
Bernard as my neighbours, and yet I don't know, for I remember there was
another boy, who sent in a Latin copy of some sort, but for his own
pleasure he wrote the following--

The dogs of the monks of St Bernard go
To pick little children out of the snow,
And around their necks is the cordial gin
Tied with a little bit of bob-bin.

I should like to have written that, and I did try, but I couldn't. I
didn't quite like the last line, and tried to mend it, but I couldn't."

I fancied I could see traces of bitterness against the instructors of his
youth in Ernest's manner, and said something to this effect.

"Oh, no," he replied, still laughing, "no more than St Anthony felt
towards the devils who had tempted him, when he met some of them casually
a hundred or a couple of hundred years afterwards. Of course he knew
they were devils, but that was all right enough; there must be devils. St
Anthony probably liked these devils better than most others, and for old
acquaintance sake showed them as much indulgence as was compatible with
decorum.

"Besides, you know," he added, "St Anthony tempted the devils quite as
much as they tempted him; for his peculiar sanctity was a greater
temptation to tempt him than they could stand. Strictly speaking, it was
the devils who were the more to be pitied, for they were led up by St
Anthony to be tempted and fell, whereas St Anthony did not fall. I
believe I was a disagreeable and unintelligible boy, and if ever I meet
Skinner there is no one whom I would shake hands with, or do a good turn
to more readily."

At home things went on rather better; the Ellen and Mother Cross rows
sank slowly down upon the horizon, and even at home he had quieter times
now that he had become a praepostor. Nevertheless the watchful eye and
protecting hand were still ever over him to guard his comings in and his
goings out, and to spy out all his ways. Is it wonderful that the boy,
though always trying to keep up appearances as though he were cheerful
and contented--and at times actually being so--wore often an anxious,
jaded look when he thought none were looking, which told of an almost
incessant conflict within?

Doubtless Theobald saw these looks and knew how to interpret them, but it
was his profes