learned professions were so distasteful to me, he had no desire to
dictate to my choice, but that as he did not wish one who was, however
remotely, of his blood, and bore the name of Haughton, to turn shoeblack
or pickpocket--Vance--Vance!"

VANCE.--"Lock up your pride--the sackcloth frets you--and go on; and that
therefore he--"

LIONEL.--"Would buy me a commission in the army, or get me an appointment
in India."

VANCE.--"Which did you take?"

LIONEL (passionately). "Which! so offered,--which?--of course neither!
But distrusting the tone of my mother's reply, I sat down, the evening
before I left home, and wrote myself to this cruel man. I did not show
any letter to my mother,--did not tell her of it. I wrote shortly,--that
if he would not accept my gratitude, I would not accept his benefits;
that shoeblack I might be,--pickpocket, no! that he need not fear I
should disgrace his blood or my name; and that I would not rest till,
sooner or later, I had paid him back all that I had cost him, and felt
relieved from the burdens of an obligation which--which--" The boy
paused, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed.

Vance, though much moved, pretended to scold his friend, but finding that
ineffectual, fairly rose, wound his arm brother-like round him, and drew
him from the arbour to the shelving margin of the river. "Comfort," then
said the Artist, almost solemnly, as here, from the inner depths of his
character, the true genius of the man came forth and spoke,--"comfort,
and look round; see where the islet interrupts the tide, and how