ing the entail on one side.
Entails used to be fixed things, I thought; but since what old Mr.
Scarborough did nobody seems to regard them now. But even suppose the
entail does remain, what are you to do about the income? Your father
thinks you had better come down and have a little talk about the
matter."

This was the first blow received since the moment of his exaltation.
Harry knew very well that the entail was fixed, and could not be put
aside by Mr. Prosper, though Mr. Scarborough might have succeeded with
his entail; but yet he was aware that his present income was chiefly
dependent on his uncle's good-will. To be reduced to live on his
fellowship would be very dreadful. And that income, such as it was,
depended entirely on his celibacy. And he had, too, as he was well
aware, engendered habits of idleness during the last two years. The mind
of a young man so circumstanced turns always first to the Bar, and then
to literature. At the Bar he did not think that there could be any
opening for him. In the first place, it was late to begin; and then he
was humble enough to believe of himself that he had none of the peculiar
gifts necessary for a judge or for an advocate. Perhaps the knowledge
that six or seven years of preliminary labor would be necessary was
somewhat of a deterrent.

The rewards of literature might be achieved immediately. Such was his
idea. But he had another idea,--perhaps as erroneous,--that this career
would not become a gentleman who intended to be Squire of Buston. He had
seen two or three men, decidedly Bohemian in their modes of life, to
whom he did not wish to assimilate himself. There was Quaverdale, whom
he had known intimately at St. John's, and who was on the Press.
Quaverdale had quarrelled absolutely with his father, who was also a
clergyman, and having been thrown altogether on his own resources, had
come out as a writer for _The Coming Hour_. He made his five or six
hundred a year in a rattling, loose, uncertain sort of fashion, and
was,--so thought Harry Annesley,--the dirtiest man of his acquaintance. He
did not believe in the six hundred a year, or Quaverdale would certainly
have changed his shirt more frequently, and would sometimes have had a
new pair of trousers. He was very amusing, very happy, very thoughtless,
and as a rule altogether impecunious. Annesley had never known him
without the means of getting a good dinner, but those means did not rise
to the purchase of a new h