ing it at
once, but when it comes to the actual leaving the old post, even
though it may be a march out with all the honours of war, drums
beating and colors flying, as it would have been in Hardy's case,
somehow or another, nine times out of ten, they throw up the
chance at the last moment, if not earlier; pick up their old
arms--growling perhaps at the price they are paying to keep their
own self-respect--and shoulder back into the press to face their
old work, muttering, "We are asses; we don't know what's good for
us; but we must see this job through somehow, come what may."

So Hardy stayed on at St. Ambrose, waiting for the fellowship
examination, and certainly, I am free to confess, not a little
enjoying the change in his position and affairs.

He had given up his low dark back rooms to the new servitor, his
successor, to whom he had presented all the rickety furniture,
except his two Windsor chairs and Oxford reading-table. The
intrinsic value of the gift was not great, certainly, but was of
importance to the poor raw boy who was taking his place; and it
was made with the delicacy of one who knew the situation. Hardy's
good offices did not stop here. Having tried the bed himself for
upwards of three long years, he knew all the hard places, and was
resolved while he stayed up that they should never chafe another
occupant as they had him. So he set himself to provide stuffing,
and took the lad about with him, and cast a skirt of his
newly-acquired mantle of respectability over him, and put him in
the way of making himself as comfortable as circumstances would
allow, never disguising from him all the while that the bed was
not to be a bed of roses. In which pursuit, though not yet a
fellow, perhaps he was qualifying himself better for a fellowship
than he could have done by any amount of cramming for polish in
his versification. Not that the electors of St. Ambrose would be
likely to hear of or appreciate this kind of training. Polished
versification would no doubt have told more in that quarter. But
we who are behind the scenes may disagree with them, and hold
that he who is thus acting out and learning to understand the
meaning of the word "fellow-ship," is the man for our votes.

So Hardy had left his rooms and gone out of college into lodgings
near at hand. The sword, epaulettes, and picture of his father's
old ship--his tutelary divinities, as Tom called them--occupied
their accustomed places in his new r