uncle will mope himself to death, and
your father will have no relaxation, while you see that he has lost his
former object in his books. And Blanche--and you too. If we were only to
contribute what dear Roland does, I do not see how, with L260 a year, we
could ever bring our neighbors round us! I wonder what Austin would
say! I have half a mind--No, I'll go and look over the week-books with
Primmins."

My mother went her way sorrowfully, and I was left alone.

Then I looked on the stately old hall, grand in its forlorn decay. And
the dreams I had begun to cherish at my heart swept over me, and hurried
me along, far, far away into the golden land whither Hope beckons youth.
To restore my father's fortunes; re-weave the links of that broken
ambition which had knit his genius with the world; rebuild those fallen
walls; cultivate those barren moors; revive the ancient name; glad the
old soldier's age; and be to both the brothers what Roland had lost,--a
son: these were my dreams; and when I woke from them, to! they had left
behind an intense purpose, a resolute object. Dream, O youth! dream
manfully and nobly, and thy dreams shall be prophets!

CHAPTER VI.

Letter From Pisistratus Caxton TO Albert Trevanion, Esq., M.P.

(The confession of a youth who in the Old World finds himself one too
many.)

My Dear Mr. Trevanion,--I thank you cordially, and so we do all,
for your reply to my letter informing you of the villanous traps
through which we have passed,--not indeed with whole skins, but
still whole in life and limb,--which, considering that the traps
were three, and the teeth sharp, was more than we could reasonably
expect. We have taken to the wastes, like wise foxes as we are,
and I do not think a bait can be found that will again snare the
fox paternal. As for the fox filial it is different, and I am
about to prove to you that he is burning to redeem the family
disgrace. Ah! my dear Mr. Trevanion, if you are busy with "blue-
books" when this letter reaches you, stop here, and put it aside
for some rare moment of leisure. I am about to open my heart to
you, and ask you, who know the world so well, to aid me in an
escape from those flammantia maenia wherewith I find that world
begirt and enclosed. For look you, sir, you and my father were
right when you both agreed that the mere book-life was not meant
for me. And yet what is not book-life, to a young man who