shall to-morrow,
and it makes him so angry; he'll call me idle and incorrigible, and all
kinds of things." And then he began again--

"`Sed quid Typhoeus aut validus Mimas,
Aut quid minaci Porphyrion statu,
Quid Rhoetus--Rhoetus--quid Rhoetus--'

"Oh, I shall break down here, I know I shall," and he burst into tears.
"It's no good trying to help me, Power, I _can't_ learn it."

"Leave off for to-night at least, Johnny," said his mother, in a tone of
anguish; "you can learn the rest to-morrow. Oh, what shall I do?" she
asked, turning to the nurse; "I cannot bear to hear him go on like
this."

"Be comforted, ma'am," said the nurse, wiping away her own tears. "He's
a dear good lamb, and he'll come to hisself soon afore he goes off."

"_Must_ he die, then?" she asked, trembling in every limb.

"Hush, good lady! we never know what God may please to do in His mercy.
We must bow to His gracious will, ma'am, as you knows well, I don't
doubt. He's fitter to die than many a grown man is, poor child, and
that's a blessing. I wish though he wasn't a repeating of that there
heathenish Latin."

But Daubeny's voice was still humming fragments of Horace lines,
sometimes with eager concentration, and then with pauses at parts where
his memory failed, at which he would grow distressed and anxious--

"`Quid Rhoetus... quid Rhoetus evulsisque truncis, Enceladus.'

"Oh, I _cannot_ learn this; I think I'm getting more stupid every day.
Enceladus--"

"If you love me, Johnny, give it up for to-night, that's a darling boy,"
said his mother.

"But, mother, it's my _duty_ to know it; you wouldn't have me fail in
duty, mother dear, would you? Why, it was you who told me to persevere,
and do all things with my might. Well, I will leave it for to-night."
Then, still unconscious of what he was doing, the boy got up and prayed,
as it was evident that he _had_ done many a time, that God would
strengthen his memory and quicken his powers, and enable him to do his
duty like a man. It was inexpressibly touching to see him as he knelt
there--thin, pale, emaciated, the shadow of his former self, kneeling in
his delirium to offer up his old accustomed prayer.

And when he got into bed again, although his mind still wandered, he was
much calmer, and a new direction seemed to have been given to his
thoughts. The prayer had fallen like dew on his aching soul. He
fancied himself in Power's study, where for many a Sunday the two boy