ttle map of what he was to do. There
were the Hertford and the Ireland scholarships, almost as a matter of
course; a first in moderations, but that went without saying; at least
one of the Vice-Chancellor's prizes--probably the Newdigate, or some
other unconsidered trifle of the kind; another first class in Greats; a
fellowship. "If you don't do more than this I will be disappointed in
you," the school tutor said.

The college tutors received Warrender with suppressed enthusiasm,
with that excitement which the acquisition of a man who is likely to
distinguish himself (and his college) naturally calls forth. It was not
long before they took his measure and decided that his school tutor was
right. He had it in him to bring glory and honour to their doors. They
surrounded him with that genial warmth of incubation which brings a
future first class tenderly to the top of the lists. Young Warrender
was flattered, his heart was touched. He thought, with the credulity of
youth, that the dons loved him for himself; that it was because of the
attractions of his own noble nature that they vied with each other
in breakfasting and dining him, in making him the companion of their
refined and elevated pleasures. He thought, even, that the Rector--that
name of fear--had at last found in himself the ideal which he had vainly
sought in so many examples of lettered youth. He became vain, perhaps,
but certainly a little self-willed, as was his nature, feeling himself
to be on the top of the wave, and above those precautions for keeping
himself there which had once seemed necessary. He did not, indeed, turn
to any harm, for that was not in his nature; but feeling himself no longer
a schoolboy, but a man, and the chosen friend of half the dons of his
college, he turned aside with a fine contempt from the ordinary ways of
fame-making, and betook himself to the pursuit of his own predilections
in the way of learning. He had a fancy for out-of-the-way studies, for
authors who don't pay, for eccentricities in literature; in short, for
having his own way and reading what he chose. Signals of danger became
gradually visible upon his path, and troubled consultations were held
over him in the common room. "He is paying no attention to his books,"
remarked one; "he is reading at large whatever pleases him." Much was
to be said for this principle, but still, alas, these gentlemen were all
agreed that it does not pay.

"If he does not mind, he will ge