his well-informed and well-bred cousin.

He walked into the room, not with a dictated obeisance, but with a
hurrying step, a half pleased, yet a half frightened look, an
instantaneous survey of every person present; not as demanding "what
they thought of him," but expressing almost as plainly as in direct
words, "what he thought of them." For all alarm in respect to his
safety and reception seemed now wholly forgotten, in the curiosity
which the sudden sight of strangers such as he had never seen in his
life before, excited: and as to HIMSELF, he did not appear to know
there was such a person existing: his whole faculties were absorbed
in OTHERS.

The dean's reception of him did honour to his sensibility and his
gratitude to his brother. After the first affectionate gaze, he ran
to him, took him in his arms, sat down, drew him to him, held him
between his knees, and repeatedly exclaimed, "I will repay to you
all I owe to your father."

The boy, in return, hugged the dean round the neck, kissed him, and
exclaimed,

"Oh! you ARE my father--you have just such eyes, and such a
forehead--indeed you would be almost the same as he, if it were not
for that great white thing which grows upon your head!"

Let the reader understand, that the dean, fondly attached to every
ornament of his dignified function, was never seen (unless caught in
bed) without an enormous wig. With this young Henry was enormously
struck; having never seen so unbecoming a decoration, either in the