ink that at
that time he could have found "fun" even in Don Quixote. This hilarious
temperament had no insensibility; a kinder heart never beat,--but, to be
sure, it beat to a strange, restless, tarantula sort of measure, which
kept it in a perpetual dance. It made him one of those officiously good
fellows who are never quiet themselves, and never let any one else be
quiet if they can help it. But Guy's great fault, in this prudent world,
was his absolute incontinence of money. If you had turned a Euphrates of
gold into his pockets at morning, it would have been as dry as the Great
Sahara by twelve at noon. What he did with the money was a mystery as
much to himself as to every one else. His father said, in a letter to
me, that "he had seen him shying at sparrows with half-crowns!" That
such a young man could come to no good in England, seemed perfectly
clear.

Still, it is recorded of many great men, who did not end their days in a
workhouse, that they were equally non-retentive of money. Schiller, when
he had nothing else to give away, gave the clothes from his back, and
Goldsmith the blankets from his bed. Tender hands found it necessary to
pick Beethoven's pockets at home before he walked out. Great heroes,
who have made no scruple of robbing the whole world, have been just as
lavish as poor poets and musicians. Alexander, in parcelling out his
spoils, left himself "hope"! And as for Julius Caesar, he was two
millions in debt when he shied his last half-crown at the sparrows
in Gaul. Encouraged by these illustrious examples, I had hopes of Guy
Bolding; and the more as he was so aware of his own infirmity that he
was perfectly contented with the arrangement which made me treasurer of
his capital, and even besought me, on no account, let him beg ever
so hard, to permit his own money to come in his own way. In fact,
I contrived to gain a great ascendency over his simple, generous,
thoughtless nature; and by artful appeals to his affections,--to all
he owed to his father for many bootless sacrifices, and to the duty of
providing a little dower for his infant sister, whose meditated portion
had half gone to pay his college debts,--I at last succeeded in fixing
into his mind an object to save for.

Three other companions did I select for our Cleruchia. The first was
the son of our old shepherd, who had lately married, but was not yet
encumbered with children,--a good shepherd, and an intelligent, steady
fellow. The seco