to children. However, this connection was, on the whole, an agreeable one
for Coningsby. He seemed suddenly to have friends: he never passed his
holydays again at school. Mr. Rigby was so clever that he contrived always
to quarter Coningsby on the father of one of his school-fellows, for Mr.
Rigby knew all his school-fellows and all their fathers. Mr. Rigby also
called to see him, not unfrequently would give him a dinner at the Star
and Garter, or even have him up to town for a week to Whitehall. Compared
with his former forlorn existence, these were happy days, when he was
placed under the gallery as a member's son, or went to the play with the
butler!

When Coningsby had attained his twelfth year, an order was received from
Lord Monmouth, who was at Rome, that he should go at once to Eton. This
was the first great epoch of his life. There never was a youth who entered
into that wonderful little world with more eager zest than Coningsby. Nor
was it marvellous.

That delicious plain, studded with every creation of graceful culture;
hamlet and hall and grange; garden and grove and park; that castle-palace,
grey with glorious ages; those antique spires, hoar with faith and wisdom,
the chapel and the college; that river winding through the shady meads;
the sunny glade and the solemn avenue; the room in the Dame's house where
we first order our own breakfast and first feel we are free; the stirring
multitude, the energetic groups, the individual mind that leads, conquers,
controls; the emulation and the affection; the noble strife and the tender
sentiment; the daring exploit and the dashing scrape; the passion that
pervades our life, and breathes in everything, from the aspiring study to
the inspiring sport: oh! what hereafter can spur the brain and touch the
heart like this; can give us a world so deeply and variously interesting;
a life so full of quick and bright excitement, passed in a scene so fair?