truck my fancy so much that I have thought
him worthy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a
thin, elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly, somewhat indolent in
manner, and with an easy, good-humoured look, not often met with in his
craft. I have been interested in his favour by a few anecdotes which I
have picked up concerning him.

He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and playmate of
Ready-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood. Indeed, they carried on
a kind of league of mutual good offices. Slingsby was rather puny, and
withal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learning; Jack, on the
contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at his books.
Slingsby helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons: Jack fought all
Slingsby's battles; and they were inseparable friends. This mutual
kindness continued even after they left school, notwithstanding the
dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to ploughing and reaping,
and prepared himself to till his paternal acres; while the other
loitered negligently on in the path of learning, until he penetrated
even into the confines of Latin and mathematics.

In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading voyages and travels, and
was smitten with a desire to see the world. This desire increased upon
him as he grew up; so, early one bright, sunny morning, he put all his
effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, took staff in hand, and
called in his way to take leave of his early schoolmate. Jack was just
going out with the plough: the friends shook hands over the farm-house
gate; Jack drove his team afield, and Slingsby whistled "Over the
hills, and far away," and sallied forth gaily to "seek his fortune."

Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby was forgotten: when,
one mellow Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in
life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a
few things tied in a handkerchief, and slung on the end of a stick, was
seen loitering through the village. He appeared to regard several houses
attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, to eye the
villagers wistfully as they returned from church, and then to pass some
time in the churchyard, reading the tombstones.

At length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-Money Jack, but
paused ere he attempted the wicket; contemplating the picture of
substantial independence before him. In the p