wrote to his aunt, not condescending to notice, even by a message, her obnoxious amanuensis :—

"MY DEAR AUNT:-I cannot believe that the letter I received to-day really emanated from you, at least not in the language in which it was couched.

"I have neither time nor inclination ('Hoity toity, how grand we are!') to attend to the foolish trifle to which your amanuensis ('Meaning me!' screamed the irrepressible Sprong) alludes; but I am quite sure that, on reflection, you will not be inclined to judge too hardly a mere piece of fun and thoughtless liveliness; for that Frankie meant to be rude, I don't for a moment believe. I shall only add, that if I were not convinced that you can never have sanctioned the expressions which the lady" (Julian had first written "person," but altered it afterwards) "who wrote for you presumed to apply to my brothers, and, above all, to my mother, I should have good reason to be offended; but feeling sure that they are not attributable to you, I pass them over with indifference. I am obliged to write in great haste, so here I must conclude.

"Believe me, my dear Aunt, your affectionate nephew, JULIAN HOME."

Lady Vinsear was secretly pleased with the spirit which this letter showed, and was not sorry for the snubbing which it gave to her lady-companion; but she determined to exercise a little tyranny, and fancied that Julian would be too much frightened to resent it. Accustomed to the legacy-hunting spirit of many parasites, the old lady thought that Julian would be like the

rest, and hoped to enjoy the sight of him reduced to submission and obedience, in the hopes of future advantage; not that she would exult in his humiliation, but she was glad of any pretext to bring the noble boy before her as a suppliant for her favor. Accordingly, setting aside her first and better impulses, she wrote back a sharp reply, abusing Cyril and Frank in round and severe terms, and adding some bitter innuendoes about the poverty of the family, and their supposed expectations at her decease. Miss Sprong lent all the venom of her malicious ingenuity to this precious performance, which fortunately did not reach Julian until trials were nearly over. Tired with excitement and hard work, the boy could ill endure these galling allusions, and wrote back a short and fiery reply:

"MY DEAR AUNT:-If any one has persuaded you that I am eager to purchase your good-will at any sacrifice, and that in consideration of 'supposed advantages' hereafter to be derived from you, I shall be willing to endure unkindly language or groundless insinuations about my other relatives, then they have very seriously misled you as to my real character. This is really the only reply of which your letter admits. I shall always be ready, as in duty bound, to bestow on you such respect and affection as our relationship demands and your own kindness may elicit, but I would scorn to win your favor at the expense of a subservience at once ungenerous and unjust.

"Believe me to remain, your affectionate nephew, "JULIAN HOME."

This letter decided the matter. Lady Vinsear wrote back, that as he obviously cared nothing about her, and did not even treat her with ordinary deference, she had that day altered her will. Poor old lady! Julian's angry letter cost her many a pang; and that night, as she sat in her bedroom by her lonely hearth, and thought over her dead brother and this gallant highsouled boy of his, the tears coursed each other down her furrowed cheeks, and she could get no rest. At last she had taken her desk, and, with trembling hands, written:

"DEAREST JULIAN:-Forgive an old woman's whim, and come to me and comfort my old age. All I have is yours, Julian; and I love you, though I wrote to you so bitterly. Your loving aunt,

"CAROLINE VINSEAR."

But when morning came, Sprong resumed her ascendancy, and by raking up and blowing the cooled embers of her patroness's wrath, succeeded once more in fanning them to the old red heat, after which she poured vinegar upon them, and they exploded in the pungent fumes of the note which told our hero that he was not to hope, for the future, to be one day owner of a handsome fortune.

Of course, at first he was a little downcast; and in talking to Lillyston, compared himself to Gautier sans avoir, and "Wilfred the disinherited."

"Never mind, Julian; it matters very little to you,' said Lillyston, proudly.

52

CYRIL IN TROUBLE.

"Anyhow, I must have no more fits of idleness," answered Julian.

And indeed the only pain it caused him arose from the now necessary decision that he must go to St. Werner's College as a sizar, or not at all. But for all that he went home with a light heart, and had once more gained the proud distinction of head-removeone for which, at that time, I very much doubt whether he would have exchanged the prospect of a rich inheritance.

And the misfortune proved an advantage to Cyril, too, as we shall see.

"So here's the little rogue who has lost me a thousand a year!" said Julian, laughingly, when he got home, and took Cyril on his knee by the fireside after dinner. The next moment he was very sorry he had said it, for Cyril hung his head, and seemed quite disconcerted; but his brother laughed away his sorrow, as he thought, and no further allusion to the subject was made.

But that night, as Julian looked into his brother's bedroom before he went to bed, he found Cyril crying, and his pillow wet with tears.

"Cyril, what's the matter, my boy?—you're not ill, are you?"

Cyril sat up, his eyes still swimming, and threw his arms round his brother's neck. "I've ruined you, Julian," he said.

"My dear child, what nonsense! Nay, my foolish little fellow," answered Julian, "this is really a mistake of yours. Aunt Vinsear was angry with me for my letters, not with you. Don't cry so, Cyril, for I

ONE MORE SCENE.

53

really don't care a rush about it; but I shall care if it vexes you. But shall I tell you why you ought to know of it, Cyril?"

"Why?"

You know,

"Because, my boy, it affects you, too. Cyril, that we are very poor now. Well, you see we shall have to support ourselves hereafter, and mother and Violet depend on us; so you must work hard, Cyril, will you? and don't be idle at Marlby, as I'm afraid you have been. Eh, my boy?"

The boy promised faithfully, and performed the promise well in after-days; but that night Julian did not leave him until he was fast asleep.

We shall tell only one more scene of Julian's Harton life, and that very briefly.

It is a glorious summer afternoon; four o'clock bell is just over, and it is expected that in a few minutes the examiner (an old Hartonian and senior classic) will read out the list which shall give the result of many weeks' hard work. The Newry scholarship is to be announced at the same time: Bruce and Home are the favorite names.

A crowd of boys throng round the steps, but Julian is not among them; he is leaning over the rails of the church-yard, under the elm-trees by Peachey's tomb, filled with a trembling and almost sickening anxiety. Bruce, confident of victory, is playing rackets just below the school-yard.

The examiner suddenly appears from the speechroom door. There is a breathless silence while he reads the list, and then announces, in an emphatic voice,