But when I got back to the ship the sight of my adornment

kept my messmates in an uproar for the rest of the afternoon.
Whether the touchingappeal to my mother produced tears, or

of what kind, matters little; it effectually determined my
career. Before my new ship sailed for China, I was home

again, and in full possession of my coveted freedom as a
civilian.

CHAPTER VIII
IT was settled that after a course of three years at a

private tutor's I was to go to Cambridge. The life I had led
for the past three years was not the best training for the

fellow-pupil of lads of fifteen or sixteen who had just left
school. They were much more ready to follow my lead than I

theirs, especially as mine was always in the pursuit of
pleasure.

I was first sent to Mr. B.'s, about a couple of miles from
Alnwick. Before my time, Alnwick itself was considered out

of bounds. But as nearly half the sin in this world consists
in being found out, my companions and I managed never to

commit any in this direction.
We generally returned from the town with a bottle of some

noxious compound called 'port' in our pockets, which was
served out in our 'study' at night, while I read aloud the

instructive adventures of Mr. Thomas Jones. We were, of
course, supposed to employ these late hours in preparing our

work for the morrow. One boy only protested that, under the
combined seductions of the port and Miss Molly Seagrim, he

could never make his verses scan.
Another of our recreations was poaching. From my earliest

days I was taught to shoot, myself and my brothers being each
provided with his little single-barrelled flint and steel

'Joe Manton.' At - we were surrounded by grouse moors on one
side, and by well-preserved coverts on the other. The grouse

I used to shoot in the evening while they fed amongst the
corn stooks; for pheasants and hares, I used to get the other

pupils to walk through the woods, while I with a gun walked
outside. Scouts were posted to look out for keepers.

Did our tutor know? Of course he knew. But think of the
saving in the butcher's bill! Besides which, Mr. B. was

otherwise preoccupied; he was in love with Mrs. B. I say 'in
love,' for although I could not be sure of it then, (having

no direct experience of the AMANTIUM IRAE,) subsequent
observation has persuaded me that their perpetual quarrels

could mean nothing else. This was exceedingly favourable to
the dependence" target="_blank" title="n.独立，自主，自立">independence of Mr. B.'s pupils. But when asked by Mr.

Ellice how I was getting on, I was forced in candour to admit
that I was in a fair way to forget all I ever knew.

By the advice of Lord Spencer I was next placed under the
tuition of one of the minor canons of Ely. The Bishop of Ely

- Dr. Allen - had been Lord Spencer's tutor, hence his
elevation to the see. The Dean - Dr. Peacock, of algebraic

and Trinity College fame - was good enough to promise 'to
keep an eye' on me. Lord Spencer himself took me to Ely; and

there I remained for two years. They were two very important
years of my life. Having no fellow pupil to beguile me, I

was the more industrious. But it was not from the better
acquaintance with ancient literature that I mainly benefited,

- it was from my initiation to modern thought. I was a
constant guest at the Deanery; where I frequently met such

men as Sedgwick, Airey the Astronomer-Royal, Selwyn, Phelps
the Master of Sydney, Canon Heaviside the master of

Haileybury, and many other friends of the Dean's,
distinguished in science, literature, and art. Here I heard

discussed opinions on these subjects by some of their leading
representatives. Naturally, as many of them were Churchmen,

conversation often turned on the bearing of modern science,
of geology especially if Sedgwick were of the party, upon

Mosaic cosmogony, or Biblical exegesis generally.
The knowledge of these learned men, the lucidity with which

they expressed their views, and the earnestness with which
they defended them, captivated my attention, and opened to me

a new world of surpassing interest and gravity.
What startled me most was the spirit in which a man of

Sedgwick's intellectual power protested against the possible
encroachments of his own branch of science upon the orthodox

tenets of the Church. Just about this time an anonymous book
appeared, which, though long since forgotten, caused no

slight disturbanceamongst dogmatic theologians. The
tendency of this book, 'Vestiges of the Creation,' was, or

was then held to be, antagonistic to the arguments from
design. Familiar as we now are with the theory of evolution,

such a work as the 'Vestiges' would no more stir the ODIUM
THEOLOGICUM than Franklin's kite. Sedgwick, however,

attacked it with a vehemence and a rancour that would
certainly have roasted its author had the professor held the

office of Grand Inquisitor.
Though incapable of forming any opinion as to the scientific

merits of such a book, or of Hugh Miller's writings, which he
also attacked upon purely religious grounds, I was staggered

by the fact that the Bible could possibly be impeached, or
that it was not profanity to defend it even. Was it not the

'Word of God'? And if so, how could any theories of
creation, any historical, any philological researches, shake

its eternal truth?
Day and night I pondered over this new revelation. I bought

the books - the wicked books - which nobody ought to read.
The INDEX EXPURGATORIUS became my guide for books to be

digested. I laid hands on every heretical work I could hear
of. By chance I made the acquaintance of a young man who,

together with his family, were Unitarians. I got, and
devoured, Channing's works. I found a splendid copy of

Voltaire in the Holkham library, and hunted through the
endless volumes, till I came to the 'Dialogues

Philosophiques.' The world is too busy, fortunately, to
disturb its peace with such profanesatire, such withering

sarcasm as flashes through an 'entretien' like that between
'Frere Rigolet' and 'L'Empereur de la Chine.' Every French

man of letters knows it by heart; but it would wound our
English susceptibilities were I to cite it here. Then, too,

the impious paraphrase of the Athanasian Creed, with its
terrible climax, from the converting Jesuit: 'Or vous voyez

bien . . . qu'un homme qui ne croit pas cette histoire doit
etre brule dans ce monde ci, et dans l'autre.' To which

'L'Empereur' replies: 'Ca c'est clair comme le jour.'
Could an ignorant youth, fevered with curiosity and the first

goadings of the questioning spirit, resist such logic, such
scorn, such scathing wit, as he met with here?

Then followed Rousseau; 'Emile' became my favourite.
Froude's 'Nemesis of Faith' I read, and many other books of a

like tendency. Passive obedience, blind submission to
authority, was never one of my virtues, and once my faith was

shattered, I knew not where to stop - what to doubt, what to
believe. If the injunction to 'prove all things' was

anything more than an empty apophthegm, inquiry, in St.
Paul's eyes at any rate, could not be sacrilege.

It was not happiness I sought, - not peace of mind at least;
for assuredly my thirst for knowledge, for truth, brought me

anything but peace. I never was more restless, or, at times,
more unhappy. Shallow, indeed, must be the soul that can

lightly sever itself from beliefs which lie at the roots of
our moral, intellectual, and emotional being, sanctified too

by associations of our earliest love and reverence. I used
to wander about the fields, and sit for hours in sequestered