tumnal hues, as pleasing to his eyes as the tints of the summer
flowers. Day by day he sat between his children, patiently laying the
foundation of all they could thereafter learn or know. He made no
distinction for age or sex; and in their case, at any rate, nature had
set no stigma of inferiority on the intelligence of the girl. Sydney was
the older of the two by eighteen months, and at first it seemed as
though his mind was readier to grasp a new idea; but there awoke in
Lettice a spirit of generous rivalry and resolution, which saved her
from being far out-stripped by her brother. Together they studied Greek
and Latin; they talked French and read German; they picked up as much of
mathematics as their father could explain to them--which was little
enough; and, best of all, they developed a literary faculty such as does
not always accompany a knowledge of half-a-dozen dead and living
languages.

The day came when Mr. Campion, not without misgiving, resolved to test
the value of the education which he had given to his children. He had
held a fellowship at Peterhouse up to the time of his marriage, and had
intended that Sydney should try for a scholarship at the same college.
But the boy aimed at a higher mark; he was bent on being a Scholar of
Trinity. Perhaps it might have done him good to fail once or twice on
the threshold of his life, had his father assured himself beforehand
that he would not be disappointed if his pupil was sent back to him for
another year of preparation. But, as we have already seen, Sidney
succeeded, and, if the truth must be told, Mr. Campion was in no way
surprised at his success.

From that time forward none of the Campions ever dreamed of failure in
connection with Sydney's efforts. He certainly did not dream of failure
for himself. He had that sublime confidence which swells the heart of
every young man in the flush of his first victory. We laugh in the
middle age at the ambitions which we nursed at twenty; but we did not
laugh when the divine breath was in us, and when our faith removed
mountains of difficulty from our path.

Sydney's career at Cambridge was one long triumph. He gained the Craven
and Porson scholarships; his epigrams were quoted by college tutors as
models of vigor and elegance; he was President of the Union; he took an
excellent degree, and was elected to a fellowship in due course. He had,
in fact, done brilliant things; and at the age of twenty-four he was--to
thos