so snappy, he would, I daresay, be a very jolly chap; though he is dreadfully conceited, and brags like a Russian, besides being a bit of a bully, and not over good-looking. He is one of the best walkers I ever met with. He says he thinks he could do the thousand miles in a thousand hours, the same as Captain Barclay.

Ralph Greene is the most good-natured chap I know. I like him tremendously. We always lend one another money when either of us are hard up. He never by any chance quarrels with his friends, though he won't stand any nonsense from a stranger. At Milan, he was very nearly having a set-to with an armed soldier, who called him "a ros bif English." The worst of Ralph is, that he fancies he can do everything better than anybody else. He puts me in an awful passion when I hear him say he does not see much in Shakspeare; and sometimes I'm ready to knock him over, because he always calls the Prime Minister, whoever he may be, a regular muff"-as if he was capable of judging. When " La Perche" first came out at the circuses, he said, "It was not at all difficult, and he could do it if he liked." He would not even allow that there was the least credit due to Saussure for his perseverance in executing the ascent of Mont Blanc. He said it was only "climbing."

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I do verily believe that if it had not been for our discussion on this last subject, we should never have made the attempt; but Ralph was so tremendously clever, and would insist it was such an easy thing to do, that I was glad to put his genius and courage to the test. And what was the consequence? Why, he had to be dragged up the last part of the ascent. If it had not been for the guides laying hold of him and pulling him along, he would never have reached the summit. Poor little Ralph! he had n't left off turn-down collars and worn stuckups more than two years; and yet he talked as if he'd been born in them, and began life with whiskers.

My governor-that's my father, you know-had told me that as soon as I got through the two first books of Euclid, and thoroughly understood them, he would treat me to a trip on the Continent. You may depend upon it, I stuck to my work pretty closely. At last, I was ready to be examined; and I called upon him to be as good as his word. Then arose a difficulty. The governor said his “official duties” obliged him to remain in town all the autumn, and mother would not listen to my being trusted alone in a foreign land. I said, "It wasn't fair to make a fellow go studying in his play hours, stopping in-doors learning that beastly dry Euclid: and then no sooner had he done his half of the bargain, than it was found out that he was too young to be allowed to go a mile or two away from home;" and I told papa he ought to have thought of his "official duties," and that sort of stuff, before he made the offer.

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Why,

What do you think mamma wanted me to do? to go and stop a fortnight with an old aunt of mine, at that horrid quiet place, Tunbridge Wells. That," I was told, "would do just as well." I could not stand it any longer. “Oh! thank you," I said, in disgust; "what a delicious treat, to be sure!" In the first place, aunt is close upon seventy years old, if she is an hour; and she makes everybody go to bed at nine o'clock precisely, besides asking a fellow to walk out with her in the day time, and getting him to read the newspaper aloud in the evening. That's a nice lively place to be sent to as a great treat, is n't it?

For a long time, my mother would not hear of my travelling alone, for fear I should be lost, or killed, or some dreadful thing or another happen to me; but at last father who is very kind to me, and not at all like some boys' fathers, for he talks to me the same as anybody else would, and I never in the least mind his being in the same room with me—at last father, I say,

calmed mother down. I had set my mind upon having a peep at Mont Blanc; and a friend of father's, who was going with his family to Baden-Baden, offered to see me safe as far as Strasburg. Well, it was owing to this circumstance, and to father telling mother that he was sure some good would come out of teaching a fellow to be his own master, and look about him in the world, instead of growing up a helpless milksop for everybody to laugh at and knock about, (I forget the words my papa made use of; but he's a very clever fellow, and put it to mother in first-rate style), that he made her give her consent, on condition that I was to write home every other

day (I did so for more than a week). She also made me promise her solemnly that I would not get into scrapes (as if a fellow wanted to), and that I would look carefully after my portmanteau (I only lost it three times), and never sleep in damp sheets (I was always too tired to think about them), and a lot of other things that I forget now. Poor dear mother, she would like to treat a fellow as if he was a pigeon, and keep him always fluttering about the house, so that the first time he takes a longer flight than usual, she fancies he is staying away, and sets to screaming and calling for him to come back and be locked up again. Sometimes I almost wish my mother was n't so fond of me, for it is so like bullying, that, upon my word, it is hard to tell the difference.

When Ralph Greene heard I was going on the Continent, he was so awfully jealous, that we nearly quarrelled. He took quite a dislike to me, and even wanted me to give him back a knife he had made me a present of-just as if I had offended him somehow. He never let his mamma have a moment's rest until she consented to his accompanying me. His father has been dead these six years, so he does very nearly just as he likes at home, and seems to have a remarkably jolly time of it. Besides, his mamma was going to be married again, and no doubt

she was not sorry to get Ralph out of the way; for though he never told me, yet I know he does not like his future stepfather, or else he would never have put cow-itch into his hat, as he did one night when I was at his place, "to touch up his old bald head," as he said.

My governor did certainly behave to me like a perfect gentleman, for he gave me a cheque upon his bankers, which, when I saw the amount, regularly turned a fellow's heart over with gratitude. I could n't help throwing my arms round his neck, and telling him what a dear good father he was. “Go, and get it cashed at once," says he; "and you had better not let mamma know how much I've given you, or I shall never hear the last of it." I could see he was rather afraid I should let the cat out of the bag. It is unnecessary to add that I kept my mouth closely shut, and he got into no trouble through me.

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You should have seen the look the clerk at Coutts's gave me when I handed the cheque over to him. There was something quite captivating in his voice as he asked me, "How will you take it, Sir?" Thinking he was startled at the quantity of cash, I replied in an off-hand manner, I have a cab at the door." I rather flatter myself my tone and manner were calculated to impress that young clerk with the idea that I was quite accustomed to that sort of thing, and usually spent my mornings changing cheques for large amounts.

I think I never felt so truly happy and proud as when I took leave of father's friend, Mr. Knighton, at Strasburg, and with young Ralph by my side, was seated in a first-class carriage, rattling away for Basle. We did nothing but laugh and sing, the whole journey. We showed each other how much money we had, and planned together how we would manage so as not to be cheated by the hôtel people, for both our mothers had particularly cautioned us as to that. For the first time in our lives, we were our own masters, without anybody to order

us about or interfere with what we chose to do; and we were both so delighted, that we gradually grew conceited, and began to assume airs of great importance. We sat with our feet up on the seats in front, not so much for the comfort of the attitude as for the effect we thought it produced. We both of us kept looking at our watches, and grumbling at the pace we were going; declaring that the train was behind-hand, and implying that we would write to the "Times," and pull every man of them over the coals in the columns of that newspaper.

It was at Geneva that we met Kingstone. We had gone into a pastry-cook's shop to have a few ices, and some cakes, and a little fruit, and that sort of thing; and, whilst we were eating, we heard a fellow say to the girl behind the counter, "Avezvous, Mademoiselle, de la mock turtle soup?" Both Ralph and myself shouted out, at the same time, "I'll bet sixpence that is old Frank Kingstone!" And so it was, and we both of us won the wager.

We soon got talking about where we were going to; and then we arranged to stick together, and form a travelling party of three. He said he was precious glad to see us, for he had