following copy of a letter, sent by me a year since to an old
school acquaintance:--

"DEAR CHARLES,
"I think when you and I were at Eton together, we were neither of
us what could be called popular characters: you were a
sarcastic, observant, shrewd, cold-blooded creature; my own
portrait I will not attempt to draw, but I cannot recollect that
it was a strikingly attractive one--can you? What animal
magnetism drew thee and me together I know not; certainly I never
experienced anything of the Pylades and Orestes sentiment for
you, and I have reason to believe that you, on your part, were
equally free from all romantic regard to me. Still, out of
school hours we walked and talked continually together; when the
theme of conversation was our companions or our masters we
understood each other, and when I recurred to some sentiment of
affection, some vague love of an excellent or beautiful object,
whether in animate or inanimate nature, your sardonic coldness
did not move me. I felt myself superior to that check THEN as I
do NOW.

"It is a long time since I wrote to you, and a still longer time
since I saw you. Chancing to take up a newspaper of your county
the other day, my eye fell upon your name. I began to think of
old times; to run over the events which have transpired since we
separated; and I sat down and commenced this letter. What you
have been doing I know not; but you shall hear, if you choose to
listen, how the world has wagged with me.

"First, after leaving Eton, I had an interview with my maternal