the wisdom of the measures of the Presbyterians, was not to be judged of by a momentary failure: they had not indeed been crowned with success; but they had merited it. The system upon which they had acted was alone worthy of Englishmen, and must finally prevail. It will presently be seen in what way these political discussions influenced my fate in Winchester College.

CHAPTER XI.

I No sooner became a personage in this moving and busy scene, than among all my school-fellows one individual instantly fixed my attention and observation. His name was Clifford. To me, who had seen so little of the varieties of human character, he was an extraordinary creature indeed. He seemed both to attract all eyes, and to win all hearts. There was something in him perfectly fascinating and irresistible. His countenance was beautiful, and his figure was airy. The bloom of health revelled in his cheeks. There was a vivacity in his eye, and an inexpressible

and thrilling charm in the tone of his voice, that appeared more than human. His gaiety was never-ceasing and eternal; and it was sustained by such lively fancies, such whimsical and unexpected sallies, and so inexhaustible a wit, that

The air, a chartered libertine, was still;
And the mute wonder lurked in men's cars,
To steal his sweet and honied sentences.

For a short time envy itself was disarmed; and I, like the rest, admired a spectacle, so new to me, and so beautiful in itself, that I was wrapt in self-oblivion, and possessed no faculties, but an eye to remark his graces, and an ear to drink in every sound he uttered. The illusion lasted for days, and I returned to the feast with an appetite that seemed as if it would never be sated.

But this was a brief intoxication. The solemn tone of my true character speedily

returned to me; and, though for a time I relished the vein of Clifford with a genuine zest, it was in the main too alien from the settled temper of my mind, for it to be possible I should enjoy it long. It held me in an unnatural state of feeling; and my thoughts soon fell back to the train to which they had been accustomed. My rooted habits were those of reflection, silence, and reverie. To follow, as I had done at first, the brilliant sparklings of Clifford's wit, had an effect upon me similar to that produced by the rattling progress of a vehicle at full speed. It made my brain giddy, and my head ache, with its violence. And, when I looked back upon the pleasure I had for a time enjoyed, I scorned or imagined I scorned, the cause that produced it. Was man made for no higher a purpose, than to laugh, be amused, and wonder at the jugglings and dexterities of another's wit?—I did Clifford injustice. His wit was rational; and his most sportive

sallies were worthy to abide the test of examination, and were pregnant with discrimination and good sense.

I have called the feelings, which thus at second thoughts arose in my mind, by the name of envy. The root of my sentiment however was a sort of moral disapprobation. I considered. Clifford as a kind of mountebank, debauching the character of his equals, and destroying that sobriety and concentration of soul, without which there can be no considerable virtue. I looked into myself, and was conceited enough to imagine, that I was a better sample of our general nature than he. I felt therefore, that much false judgment was made, and much injustice committed. I sat silent and obscure in my nook, and was silly enough to be angry, that the common route of my school-fellows crowded round Clifford, and neglected me. If any one desired to be amused, to whom did he ever think of resorting to gratify that desire,