Tracks of a Rolling Stone

the past three years was not the best training for thefellow-pupil of lads of fifteen or sixteen who had just leftscho

nwick itself was considered outof bounds. But as nearly half the sin in this world cons

ght, while I read aloud theinstructive adventures of Mr. Thomas Jones. We were, ofcourse, supposed to employ these late hours in preparing ourwork

el'Joe Manton.' At - we were surrounded by grouse moors on oneside, and by well-preserved coverts on the other. The grouseI used to shoot in the evening while they fed amongst

h Mrs. B. I say 'inlove,' for although I could not be sure of it then, (havingno direct experience of the AMANTIUM IRAE,) subsequentobservation has persu

orced in candour to admitthat I was in

importantyears of my life. Having no fellow pupil to beguile me, Iwas the more industrious. But it was not from the betteracquaintance with ancient literature that I mainly benefited,- it was from my initiation to modern thought. I was aconstant guest at the Deanery; where I frequently met suchmen as Sedgwick, Airey the Astronomer-Royal, Selwyn, Phelpsthe Master of Sydney, Canon Heaviside the mas

their views, and the earnestness with whichthey defended them, captivated

ough long since forgotten, caused noslight disturbance amongst dogmatic theologians. Thetendency of this book, 'Vestiges of the Creation,' was, orwas then held to be, antagonistic to the arguments fromdesign. Familiar as we now are with the theory of evol

urely religious grounds, I was staggeredby the fact that the Bible could possibly be impeached, orthat it was not profanity to defend it even.

w revelation. I boughtthe books - the w

ndless volumes, till I came to the 'DialoguesPhilosophiques.' The world is too busy, fortunately, todisturb its peace with such profane satire, such witheringsarcasm as flashes through an 'entretien' like that between'Frere Rigolet' and 'L'Empereur de la Chine.' Every Frenchman of letters knows it by heart; but it would wound ourEngli

e firstgoadings of the questioning spirit, resist such l

usseau; 'Emile' be

toauthority, was never one of my virtues, and once my faith wasshattered, I knew not where to stop - what to doubt

any rate, could

eliefs which lie at the roots ofour moral, intellectual, and emotional being, sanctified tooby associations of our earliest love and reverence. I usedto wander about the fields, and sit for hours in sequesteredspots, longing for some friend, some confidant to takec

igion, thatperpetuates the infantile character of human creeds; and,what is worse, generates the hid