I talked of the scenery, and found willing listeners.  They understood me better than their master, for they were worshippers themselves.  They promised to show me lovelier spots than any I had met with yet; sacred corners, known only to themselves, down by the sea, where the arbute and laurustinus grew like trees, and children of the ocean.  Then there were villages near, more beautiful even than their own; one that lay in the lap of a large hill, with the sea creeping round, or rolling at its feet like thunder, sometimes.  What lanes, too, Miss Fairman knew of!  She would take me into places worth the looking at; and oh, what drawings she had made from them!  Their sisters had bought drawings, and paid very dearly for them too, that were not half so finely done!  They would ask her to show me her portfolio, and she would do it directly, for she was the kindest creature living.  It was not the worst trait in the disposition of these boys, that, whatever might be the subject of conversation, or from whatever point we might start in our discourse, they found pleasure in making all things bear towards the honour and renown of their young mistress.  The scenery was nothing without Miss Fairman and her sketches.  The house was dull without her, and the singing in the church, if she were ill and absent, was as different as could be.  There were the sweetest birds that could be, heard warbling in the high trees that lined the narrow roads; but at Miss Fairman’s window there was a nightingale that beat them all.  The day wore on, and I did not see the general favourite.  It was dusk when she reached the parsonage, and then she retired immediately to rest, tired from the labours of the day.  The friend of the family, Doctor Mayhew, had accompanied Miss Fairman home; he remained with the incumbent, and I continued with my young companions until their bedtime.  They departed, leaving me their books, and then I took a survey of the work that was before me.  My duties were to commence on the following day, and our first subject was the tragedy of Hecuba.  How very grateful did I feel for the sound instruction which I had received in early life from my revered pains-taking tutor, for the solid groundwork that he had established, and for the rational mode of tuition which he had from the first adopted.  From the moment that he undertook to cultivate and inform the youthful intellect, this became itself an active instrument in the attainment of knowledge—­not, as is so often the case, the mere idle depositary of encumbering words.  It was little that he required to be gained by rote, for he regarded all acquisitions as useless in which the understanding had not the chiefest share.  He was pleased to communicate facts, and anxious to discover, from examination, that the principles which they contained had been accurately seen and understood.  Then no labour and perseverance on his part were deemed too great for his pupil, and the business of his life became