ng limbs, and a furtive glance to see that all was
perfect in the _sit_ of the garment that clothed it. He had been
ploughed it is true, but that did not interfere much with his mental
satisfaction; for, after all, scholarship was a thing cultivated chiefly
by dons and prigs, and poor men; and no doubt this other poor man, the
parson, would be able to put all into his head that was necessary, just
as much as would pay, and no more--a process the mere thought of which
made Clarence yawn, yet which he had wound up his noble mind to submit
to.

"Mind you, I don't say I am going to work," he had said to his mother;
"but if you think he can put it into me, he may try," and he repeated
much the same sentiment, with a difference, to Sophy Dorset, who by way
of civility, while the Rector's wife paid court to Mr. May, talked to
Clarence a little, from the corner of the ottoman close to the fire.

"Work! well, I suppose so, after a sort. I don't mean to make myself ill
with midnight oil and that sort of thing," he said (he was not at all
clear in his mind as to how the midnight oil was applied), "but if Mr.
May can get it into me, I'll give him leave; for one thing, I suppose
there will be nothing else to do."

"Not much in Carlingford; there are neither pictures, nor museums, nor
fine buildings, nor anything of the sort; and very little society; a few
tea-parties, and one ball in the season."

Mr. Clarence Copperhead shrugged his large shoulders.

"I shan't go to the tea-parties, that's certain," he said; "a fellow
must hunt a little, I suppose, as the place is so destitute. As for
pictures and museums, that don't trouble me. The worst of going abroad
is that you've always got to look at things of that sort. To have to do
it at home would be beyond a joke."

"Have you seen the box of curious things John sent me with the
children?" said Sophy. "They are on the table at the end of the
room,--yataghans, and I don't know what other names they have, all sorts
of Indian weapons. I should think you would be interested in them."

"Thanks, Cousin Sophy, I am very well where I am," he said. He looked at
her in such a way that she might have appropriated this remark as a
compliment, had she pleased; but Sophy laughed, and it is to be feared
did not feel the compliment, for she turned right round to somebody
else, and took no more notice of Clarence. He was so fully satisfied
with himself that he had not any strong sense of neglect,