the scholastic manner in the foot-notes. He can't be very
bad, wisely thought the Pall-Mall Philosopher: and he made Pen's mother
remark (not, perhaps, without a secret feeling of disappointment, for
she loved romance like other soft women), that the young gentleman
during the last fortnight came home quite hungry to dinner at night,
and also showed a very decent appetite at the breakfast-table in the
morning. "Gad, I wish I could," said the Major, thinking ruefully of his
dinner pills. "The boy begins to sleep well, depend upon that." It was
cruel, but it was true.

Having no other soul to confide in--for he could not speak to his mother
of his loves and disappointments--his uncle treated them in a scornful
and worldly tone, which, though carefully guarded and polite, yet jarred
greatly on the feelings of Mr. Pen--and Foker was much too coarse to
appreciate those refined sentimental secrets--the lad's friendship for
the Curate redoubled, or rather, he was never tired of having Smirke for
a listener on that one subject. What is a lovee without a confidant?
Pen employed Mr. Smirke, as Corydon does the elm-tree, to cut out his
mistress's name upon. He made him echo with the name of the beautiful
Amaryllis. When men have left off playing the tune, they do not care
much for the pipe: but Pen thought he had a great friendship for Smirke,
because he could sigh out his loves and griefs into his tutor's ears;
and Smirke had his own reasons for always being ready at the lad's call.

Pen's affection gushed out in a multitude of sonnets to the friend of
his heart, as he styled the Curate, which the other received with
great sympathy. He plied Smirke with Latin Sapphics and Alcaics. The
love-songs multiplied under his fluent pen; and Smirke declared and
believed that they were beautiful. On the other hand, Pen expressed a
boundless gratitude to think that Heaven should have sent him such a
friend at such a moment. He presented his tutor with his best-bound
books, and his gold guard-chain, and wanted him to take his
double-barrelled gun. He went into Chatteris and got a gold pencil-case
on credit (for he had no money, and indeed was still in debt to Smirke
for some of the Fotheringay presents), which he presented to Smirke,
with an inscription indicative of his unalterable and eternal regard
for the Curate; who of course was pleased with every mark of the boy's
attachment.

The poor Curate was naturally very much dismayed at the