egan to catch some of

"The still gad music of humanity,"

and to listen with deep eagerness to the strain. Hitherto, to be well
dressed, handsome, agreeable, rich, and popular, had been to him a
realised ideal of life; but now he awoke to higher and worthier aims;
and once, when Russell, whose intelligent interest in his work exceeded
that of any other boy, had pointed out to him that solemn question of
Euripides--

"[Greek: Ohiei su tous thanontas o Nichaezate
Tzuphaes hapasaes metalabontas en bips
Pepheugenai to theion];"

he fell into a train of reflection, which made a lasting impression upon
his character.

The holidays were approaching. Eric, to escape as much, as possible from
his sorrow, plunged into the excitement of working for the examination,
and rapidly made up for lost ground. He now spent most of his time with
the best of his friends, particularly Montagu, Owen, and Upton; for
Upton, like himself, had been much sobered by sorrow at their loss. This
time he came out _second_ in his form, and gained more than one prize.
This was his first glimpse of real delight since Russell's death; and
when the prize-day came, and he stood with his companions in the
flower-decorated room, and went up amid universal applause to take his
prize-books, and receive a few words of compliment from the governor who
took the chair, he felt almost happy, and keenly entered into the
pleasure which his success caused, as well as into the honors won by his
friends. One outward sign only remained of his late bereavement--his
mourning dress. All the prize-boys wore rosebuds or lilies of the valley
in their button-holes on the occasion, but on this day Eric would not
wear them. Little Wright, who was a great friend of theirs, had brought
some as a present both to Eric and Montagu, as they stood together on
the prize-day morning; they took them with thanks, and, as their eyes
met, they understood each other's thoughts.

"No," said Eric to Wright, "we won't wear these to-day, although we have
both got prizes. Come along I know what we will do with them."

They all three walked together to the little green, quiet churchyard,
where, by his own request, Edwin had been buried. Many a silent visit
had the friends paid to that grave, on which the turf was now green
again, and the daisies had begun to bloom. A stone had just been placed
SACRED TO THE MEMORY

OF

AN ORPHAN,

WHO DIED AT ROSLYN SCHOOL, MAY 1847,