interest which he manifested, called forth in me a corresponding disposition to assist him; and the grateful boy, altogether overlooking his own exertions, had over and over again expressed himself in the warmest terms of thankfulness for my instruction, to which he insisted he owed all that he had acquired.  He was in his eleventh year, and his heart was as kind and generous as his intellect was vigorous and clear.  I came up to him, and found him plucking the wild-flowers from the grass as he wandered slowly along.  I looked at him as I passed, and found him weeping.

“Alfred!” I exclaimed, “What do you here so early?”

The boy burst into a fresh flow of tears, and threw himself passionately into my arms.  He sobbed piteously, and at length said—­

“Do not go, sir—­do not leave me!  You have been so kind to me.  Pray, stop.”

“What is the matter Alfred?”

“John has told me you are going, sir.  He has just taken your box down.  Oh, Mr. Stukely, stay for my sake!  I won’t give you so much trouble as I used to do.  I’ll learn my lessons better—­but don’t go, pray, sir.”

“You will have another teacher, Alfred, who will become as good a friend as I am.  I cannot stay.  Return to the parsonage—­there’s a dear boy.”

“Oh, if you must go, let me walk with you a little, sir!  Let me take your hand.  I shall be back in time for breakfast—­pray, don’t refuse me that, sir?”

I complied with his request.  He grasped my palm in both his hands, and held it there, as though he would not part with it again.  He gave me the flowers which he had gathered, and begged me to keep them for his sake.  He repeated every kind thing which I had done for him, not one of which he would forget, and all the names and dates which he had got by heart, to please his tutor.  He told me that it would make him wretched, “to get up to-morrow, and remember that I was gone;” and that he loved me better than any body, for no one had been so indulgent, and had taken such pains to make him a good boy.  Before we reached the village, his volubility had changed the tears to smiles.  As we reached it, John appeared on his return homeward.  I gave the boy into his charge, and the cloud lowered again, and the shower fell heavier than ever.  I turned at the point at which the hills became shut out, and there stood the boy fastened to the spot at which I had left him.

At the door of the inn, I was surprised to find my luggage in the custody of Dr. Mayhew’s gardener.  As soon as he perceived me, he advanced a few steps with the box, and placed note in my hand.  It was addressed to me at the parsonage, and politely requested me to wait upon the physician at my earliest convenience.  No mention was made of the object of my visit, or of the doctor’s knowledge of my altered state.  The document was as short as it might be, and as courteous.  Having read it, I turned to the gardener, or to where he had stood a moment before, with the view of questioning that gentleman; but to my great astonishment, I perceived him about a hundred yards before me, walking as fast as his load permitted him towards his master’s residence.  I called loudly after him, but my voice only acted as a spur, and increased his pace.  My natural impulse was to follow him, and I obeyed it.