look forward to the embraces of our beloved Alma Mater, and I think
studious enough to hope for the honors she bestows on her worthier
sons. You are already entered at Trinity,--and in fancy I see my
youth return to me in your image. I see you wandering where the
Cam steals its way through those noble gardens; and, confusing you
with myself, I recall the old dreams that haunted me when the
chiming bells swung over the placid waters. Verum secretumque
Mouseion, quam multa dictatis, quam multa invenitis! There at that
illustrious college, unless the race has indeed degenerated, you
will measure yourself with young giants. You will see those who,
in the Law, the Church, the State, or the still cloisters of
Learning, are destined to become the eminent leaders of your age.
To rank amongst them you are not forbidden to aspire; he who in
youth "can scorn delights, and love laborious days," should pitch
high his ambition.

Your Uncle Jack says he has done wonders with his newspaper; though
Mr. Rollick grumbles, and declares that it is full of theories, and
that it puzzles the farmers. Uncle Jack, in reply, contends that
he creates an audience, not addresses one, and sighs that his
genius is thrown away in a provincial town. In fact, he really is
a very clever man, and might do much in London, I dare say. He
often comes over to dine and sleep, returning the next morning.
His energy is wonderful--and contagious. Can you imagine that he
has actually stirred up the flame of my vanity, by constantly
poking at the bars? Metaphor apart, I find myself collecting all
my notes and commonplaces, and wondering to see how easily they
fall into method, and take shape in chapters and books. I cannot
help smiling when I add, that I fancy I am going to become an
author; and smiling more when I think that your Uncle Jack should
have provoked me into so egregious an ambition. However, I have
read some passages of my book to your mother, and she says, "it is
vastly fine," which is encouraging. Your mother has great good
sense, though I don't mean to say that she has much learning,--
which is a wonder, considering that Pic de la Mirandola was nothing
to her father. Yet he died, dear great man, and never printed a
line; while I--positively I blush to think of my temerity! Adieu,
my son; make the best of the time that remains with you at the