o-morrow's mathematics and
Virgil after that! This time I was one of the commentators, and marginal
notes in the shape of initials and scribbled profiles got in where they
shouldn't.

But on the whole I did not find that the new development interfered with
my studies. It was rather the other way, for I felt it would be
positively ignominious to be snubbed by a professor, a schoolmaster. I
was filled with overweening self-confidence, and fired with ambition.
The things I thought and planned! Just the things you would laugh at now
that you know so much about love and love-making. You shouldn't laugh!
Is not the boy's first budding love the very best bit of the Creator's
work, the tenderest shoot He grafts on the old tree of life? Nature
likes to hear her own voice as it comes truly and purely from the boy's
lips, tired as she is of man's false vows. The boy's heart holds the
divine spark of love, the same that will light the flame of his later
days, only it is minus the bacilli that threaten to creep in, sooner or
later, and crowd it with doubt and disappointment, or poison it with
selfishness and passion. Nature, consistent as she is, repeats her
processes wherever she is at work. For a while the rosebud remains
closed, and is safe; then it opens its unsuspecting leaves, and in walks
a wary worm and says, "This is just the place for me." The snow falls
white, even in grimy cities--how soon to mingle with soot and dirt! The
world changes, but the fountain source of all things remains pure; we
can return to it, recuperate and restore ourselves in its waters; there
alone we may find the mythical baths that, in olden days, promised
health and youth. Harking back, we shall hear voices that once touched
us, and may yet guide us.

But whilst my aspirations were soaring higher and higher, the fates were
taking me and my lady-love into their old meddlesome hands, and just
shaping our course at the dictates of their irresponsible caprice.

A grand sledge-party had been organised for the following Sunday,--a big
affair, with a band to start us and torches to light us home. It was a
glorious prospect, and I for one was duly excited. On Friday, at 10 P.
M., I went as usual to take the reading of my thermometer. The mercury
had risen by six degrees. I went out into the garden, consulted the wind
and sniffed the air, and my meteorological soul was filled with the
greatest misgivings. I felt it, I knew it; nothing could save us. The