picturesque tourists, with the name of Peachey on it."

"And so Byron really used, as a boy, to rest under these elms, and look
at this lovely view!" said his sister.

"Yes, Violet. I wonder how much he'd have given, in after-life, to be a
boy again," said Julian thoughtfully; "and have a fresh start--a
rejuvenescence, beginning after a summer hour spent on Peachey's tomb;"
and Julian sighed again.

"My dear Julian," said Violet, gaily rallying him, "what a boy you are!
What business have you to sigh here of all places, and now of all times?
That's the second time in the course of an hour that I've heard you.
Imagine a Harton monitor sighing twice on Speech-day! You must be tired
of us."

"Did I sigh? Abominably rude of me. I really didn't mean it," said
Julian; and shaking off the influences which had slightly depressed him
for the moment, he began to laugh and joke with the utmost mirth until
it became time to meet the train. He accompanied his mother and sister
to the station, bade them an affectionate farewell, and then walked
slowly back, for the beauty of the summer evening made him loiter on the
way.

"Poor Julian!" said Violet to her mother when the train started; "he
lets the sense of responsibility weigh on him too much, I'm afraid."

But Julian was thinking that the next time he came to the station would
probably be at the end of term, when his schoolboy days would be over.
He leaned against a gate, and looked long at the green quiet hill, with
its tall spire and embosoming trees, till he fell into a reverie.

A slap on the back awoke him, and turning round, he saw the genial,
good-humoured face of one of his fellow-monitors, Hugh Lillyston.

"Well, Julian, dreaming as usual--castle-building, and all that sort of
thing, eh?"

"No; I was thinking how soon one will have to bid good-bye to dear old
Harton. How well the chapel looks from here, doesn't it?--and the
church towering above it."

"The chapel being like a fair daughter seated at her mother's feet, as
your poetical tutor remarked the other day. Well, Julian, I'm glad we
shall leave together, anyhow. Come and have some tea."

Julian went to his friend's room. The fag brought the tea and toast,
and they spent a merry evening, chatting over the speeches, and the way
in which the day had gone off. At lock-up, Julian went to write some
letters, and then feeling the melancholy thought of future days stealing
over him, he plunged into