the
Institute; it had been printed at the expense of the Society, and had
been rewarded by a silver medal--delineative of Apollo crowning Merit
(poor Merit had not a rag to his back; but Merit, left only to the care
of Apollo, never is too good a customer to the tailor!) And the County
Gazette had declared that Britain had produced another prodigy in the
person of Dr. Riccabocca's self-educated gardener.

Attention was now directed to Leonard's mechanical contrivances. The
Squire, ever eagerly bent on improvements, had brought an engineer to
inspect the lad's system of irrigation, and the engineer had been
greatly struck by the simple means by which a very considerable
technical difficulty had been overcome. The neighboring farmers now
called Leonard "_Mr._ Fairfield," and invited him on equal terms to
their houses. Mr. Stirn had met him on the high road, touched his hat,
and hoped that "he bore no malice." All this, I say, was the first
sweetness of fame; and if Leonard Fairfield comes to be a great man, he
will never find such sweets in the after fruit. It was this success
which had determined the Parson on the step which he had just taken, and
which he had long before anxiously meditated. For, during the last year
or so, he had renewed his old intimacy with the widow and the boy; and
he had noticed, with great hope and great fear, the rapid growth of an
intellect, which now stood out from the lowly circumstances that
surrounded it in bold and unharmonizing relief.

It was the evening after his return home that the Parson strolled up to
the Casino. He put Leonard Fairfield's Prize Essay in his pocket. For he
felt that he could not let the young man go forth into the world without
a preparatory lecture, and he intended to scourge poor Merit with the
very laurel wreath which it had received from Apollo. But in this he
wanted Riccabocca's assistance: or rather, he feared that, if he did not
get the Philosopher on his side, the Philosopher might undo all the work
of the Parson.

CHAPTER XVI.

A sweet sound came through the orange boughs, and floated to the ears of
the Parson, as he wound slowly up the gentle ascent--so sweet, so
silvery, he paused in delight--unaware, wretched man! that he was
thereby conniving at Papistical errors. Soft it came, and sweet: softer
and sweeter--"Ave Maria!" Violante was chanting the evening hymn to the
Virgin Mother. The Parson at last distinguished the sense of the words,
and shoo