I found, it is true, few elements of the "good fellow" or the "fine fellow" in him; scant sparkles of the spirit which loves to flash over the wine cup, or which kindles the passions to a destroying fire; but I saw in the soil of his heart healthy and swelling germs of compassion, affection, fidelity.

I discovered in the garden of his intellect a rich growth of wholesome principles--reason, justice, moral courage, promised, if not blighted, a fertile bearing.

So I bestowed on his large forehead, and on his cheek--still pale with tears--a proud and contented kiss, and sent him away comforted.

Yet I saw him the next day laid on the mound under which Yorke had been buried, his face covered with his hands; he was melancholy for some weeks, and more than a year elapsed before he would listen to any proposal of having another dog.
Victor learns fast.

He must soon go to Eton, where, I suspect, his first year or two will be utter wretchedness: to leave me, his mother, and his home, will give his heart an agonized wrench; then, the fagging will not suit him--but emulation, thirst after knowledge, the glory of success, will stir and reward him in time.