staken but
well-meaning parent, as to his son's future destination, the writer
will hope that he has not exposed himself in vain.

THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ETONIAN.

BOOK THE FIRST.

CHAPTER I.

"Here's Harry crying!" And on the instant, my brother awoke the elder
ones to witness and enjoy the astounding truth.

"What makes you think that?" I replied, in as resolute a tone as a
throat choking with anguish would admit of.

"Why, you're crying now," added another brother; "I see the tears
shining in the moonlight."

"Only a little," I at length admitted; and, satisfied with the
concession, my numerous brethren composed themselves once more to
sleep in the corners of the carriage, on their way to Eton, leaving my
eldest brother's pointer and myself at the bottom, to our own
reflections As for old Carlo, his still and regular breathing evinced
that his mind was as easy and comfortable as his body, sagaciously
satisfying himself with the evil of the day as it passed over him.
Here Carlo had the advantage of me,--I anticipated the morrow. Strange
and boisterous school-boys, tight-pantalooned ushers, with menacing
canes, were, to my yet unsophisticated mind, anything but agreeable
subjects for a reverie, and I felt proportionately doleful; I turned
my thoughts on the past, and I was very miserable.

I now learnt that I had been happy, and, for the first time,
appreciated that happiness. The hours of this long, weary day had
appeared to be as many months; and when I ruminated on former scenes,
and their dear little events, I sighed in bitterness, "What a time ago
all this seems!" And as I peered up at the moon from my abyss through
the window, my eyes unconsciously swam with tears, when I reflected
that, if at home, I should at this moment be taking tea with my dear
nurse, Lucy, and my sister's governess, just before I went to bed.

I had now bid an eternal farewell to, doubtless, by far the
dearest,--happiest period of our existence, the dawn of life's
day--that enviable time when "we have no lessons;" when the colt
presses, with his unshod foot, the fresh and verdant meadow, while he
wonders at the team toiling under a noontide sun, over the parched
and arid fallow in the distance.

This, then, was my first lesson of experience; and on reflection,
perhaps many of us will agree that, after all the vaunted troubles and
anxieties incident to manhood, few surpass in intensity and
hopelessness the sad separa