acts, whether good or evil, but the memory of them; and that memory,
undimmed by falsehood or self-deception, will create for us Heaven or
Hell. I do not say--God forbid!--that you should desire death because
you are still young, and, comparatively speaking, unspotted from the
world; but I say I would sooner see any of you struck down in the
flower of his youth than living on to lose, long before death comes,
all that makes life worth the living. Better death, a thousand times,
than gradual decay of mind and spirit; better death than faithlessness,
indifference, and uncleanness. To you who are leaving Harrow, poised
for flight into the great world of which this school is the microcosm,
I commend the memory of Henry Desmond. It stands in our records for
all we venerate and strive for: loyalty, honour, purity, strenuousness,
faithfulness in friendship. When temptation assails you, think of that
gallant boy running swiftly uphill, leaving craven fear behind, and
drawing with him the others who, led by him to the heights, made
victory possible. You cannot all be leaders, but you can follow
leaders; only see to it that they lead you, as Henry Desmond led the
men of Beauregard's Horse, onward and upward."

The preacher ended, and then followed the familiar hymn, always sung
upon the last Sunday evening of the term:--

"Let Thy father-hand be shielding
All who here shall meet no more;
May their seed-time past be yielding
Year by year a richer store;
Those returning,
Make more faithful than before."

The last blessing was pronounced, and with glistening eyes the boys
streamed out of Chapel; some of them for the last time.

Upon the next Tuesday, John travelled down into the New Forest. April
was abroad in Hampshire; the larches already were bright green against
the Scotch firs; the beech buds were bursting; only the oaks retained
their drab winter's-livery.

During the few days preceding Easter Sunday, John rode or walked to
every part of the forest which he had visited in company with his dead
friend. At Beaulieu, standing in the ruins of the Abbey, he could hear
Desmond's delightful laugh as he recited the misadventures of Hordle
John; at Stoneycross he sat upon the bank overlooking the moor, whence
they had seen the fox steal into the woods about Rufus's Stone; at the
Bell tavern at Brook they had lunched; at Hinton Admiral they had
played cricket.

To his mother's and his unc