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COLA MONTI;

A Tale for Boys.

BF THE AUTHOR OF '■'JOHN HALIFAX. GSNTLEUAN,'

HEW EDITION, EEVISED.

LONDON: DEAN & SON, LUDGATE HILL.

No one possessmg common sensibility can read the book
v;itnout a thoughtful brow and glistening eje.— Chambers
Edinbnrgn Journal.

An exceedingly well told tale, which will mstnict boys of
tdl a^cs. — English Churchman,

^5S

PREFACE

TO THE REVISED EDITION.

In revising, after seventeen years, this,
the second book she ever wrote, the
author is fully aware of its faults ; —
faults of youth, inevitable and irreme-
diable. Still, she is not ashamed of it.
And she trusts it may even yet do
some little good to some few boys — if
only as illustrating a truth, which she
believes in now as firmly as she did
then — that " God helps those who help
themselves."

M75G7i8

CHAPTER I.

THE NEW PUPIL.

" Here is a new schoolfellow for you, my
boys/' said Dr. Birch, as he entered the
playground, w^here his '' limited number of
pupils" were assembled, leading by the
hand the last addition to the flock.

Now Doctor Birch, in spite of his
unfortunate name, was the very best of
pedagogues. He was by no means an old
man, for his doctor's honours had come very
early upon him. A tall, awkward frame ; a
face which could look severe, and ugly too,
at times, though it was very pleasant when
he smiled; and an accent from which
the strong Northumbrian burr never had
vanished, spite of all his learning, complete
the description of the good doctor.

THE NEW PUPIL.

The boy at his side was about twelve
years old, at least you would have thought
so by the face : but the figure was small,
slight, and delicate. His clear skin, of a
pale olive, had none of the ruddy glow
which mantled on the cheeks of the other
boys ; and his large dark eyes wandered
restlesly from one to the other of the frolic-
some group, whose game of leap-frog had
thus been interrupted.

" Now, boys, be kind and considerate to
this little fellow," said Doctor Birch. "He
has never been to school before, and he is
a stranger. Never mind, my young friend,
you'll soon get acquainted vrith them all,"
continued he, as he patted the child's crisp
black curls, and strode off out of the play
ground with his careless shambling gait.

The "little fellow" stood timidly in the
midst of his new playfellows, who gathered
round him like a swarm of bees.

" Well, young one !" said the biggest boy,
the dux of the school, " noAV to business.
^' ^Vhat's your name?"

THE NEW PUPIL.

** Niccolo Fiorentino del Monti."

"Eh! Nick what?" cried the inquirer,
opening his eyes wide.

" Niccolo Fiorentino del Monti," repeated
the new comer, drawing himself up with a
slight gesture of pride ; and dwelling on
the soft liquid Italian syllables, as if he
thought the name both honourable and
beautiful.

All the boys set up a loud laugh.

" Why, what a strange fish of a foreigner
the old doctor has caught !" cried one.

'* Mv little fellow, we shall have to teach
you English," said another, taking the
child by the arm. But Niccolo angrily
shook off the rough touch ; and the warm
Italian blood ruslied to his dark cheek, as
he answ^ered with a foreign accent, but
distinctly enough to be understood :

'' Thank you, I can speak your tongue ;
my mother taught me : she came from your
country."

" Oh ! she was an Englishwoman, was
she?" said Woodhouse, the dux, and in-

THE NEW PUPIL.

quisitor-general over all new boys. "And
I suppose she married some poor Italian
fiddler?^'

''Mv father was no fiddler/' answered
Niccolo, his black eyes flashing fire. " He
was a Count, and his family were princes
once. They lived in a beautiful palazzo ;
my nurse Mona nsed to show me the
walls. I come of the noble family of the
Monti."

" Bravo ! my little prince ! '' cried Morris,
laughing immoderately. " And, pray, how
happened it that your small lordship came
over here ? ''

*' Because my father died, and — But I
will not answer any more questions : you
are very cruel to me, you rude English
boys, ragazzaacj Inr/lesi',' answered the
poor little fellow, falling back, in his dis-
tress, upon his own language.

"I suppose roff — Avhat's the rest of it?
— ^means rascal ; and I should like to know
how any imp of a foreigner dare call me
'rascal.' Mind what you're about, my

THE NEW PUPIL.

young prince/' said Morris, flourishing his
stick very near little Niccolo's head. The
other boys looked on, not daring to inter-
fere with one who, by his cleverness and
fighting capabilities, had got to be dux in
the schoolroom, and tyrant in the play-
ground. At last, one of the latter comers,
who did not stand so much in fear of him,
took hold of jMorris's arm.

" Come, come, Woodhouse, you are
playing the same game with this young
fellow that you did with me a month ago ;
and I must say it's rather cowardly, con-
sidering he is so small."

''Don't interfere, my lad," said the big
boy, with a patronising air. *' I am the
king of the school, as you well know. You
have not forgotten the thrashing I gave you,
Archibald McKaye ? Walk off*, will you ?
and let me finish off* this frog of a French-
man."

'' I am no Frenchman ! I am an Italian !
and that is far better than a great ugly
bad Englishman, like you!" cried Niccolo,

b3 5

THE NEW PUPIL.

boldly ; ending his speech with a torrent of
angry appellations in his native tongue.

Morris was now thoroughly getting into
a passion ; and the uplifted stick would
have fallen heavily on the child's head, had
not Archibald caught it, and turned it
aside.

'' Won't you hear reason, Morris, and let
that boy alone?" he said.

" Hear reason ! hear reason from you !
you long, solemn-faced Scotch fellow, with
a tongue as harsh as a crow ! You preach
reason to me ! Get away, or I'll thrash
you again!"

"Try!" said Archibald, quietly: while a
faint murmur of '' Shame ! shame I" rose
up from some of the boys ; and Niccolo
crept behind his brave defender, and peeped
over McKaye's shoulder at the king of the
school.

"Do you mean to say you'll fight me
again ? " said the latter, somewhat surprised
at the boy's resolute attitude.

" Yes, if you don't treat this lad civilly.

THE NEW PUPIL.

I don't see why he should be bullied
because he happens to be a foreigner, and
a stranger."

"A stiiranger indeed!" said Morris,
mimicing Archibald's accent. " And so
you intend to fight his battles, because he
is a sthranffer, like yourself? "

" Yes," again said Archibald. He was
always a quiet boy, and one of few words.
But there was a firmness and detennination
in his manner, that showed, when once
roused, he was not soon willing to yield.
The two lads took off their jackets, and
prepared for a regular combat, schoolboy
fashion, to settle the point, vi et armis ;
which seems the only way in which boys
can settle their disputes, and will do as
long as the world lasts. Before they
commenced, McKaye turned round to
the others.

*' Now, fellows, you all see what I am
fighting for : just doing for this youngster
what some of you should have done for me
when I came; instead of which, you all

THE NEW PUPIL.

set to work abusing me. Woodhouse beat
me once ; we'll see if he does this time :
but either way, I have got the right on my
side. Now, my lad, set to as soon as you
like."

Archibald shook back his fair curling
hair, threw his spare but active figure
into a posture of defence ; and looked
what he Avas — a fine, bold young moun-
taineer, from the land of Wallace and of
Bruce.

The boys formed the circle, and '' Bravo,
Morris!" ''Try it again, Mac!" showed
the deep interest they took in the combat.
It was a trial of right against might ; and
many of those who had suffered from
Morris's overbearing character were only
deterred, by the doubtful issue of the
battle, from showing how strongly they
felt with the only one who had dared to
oppose justice to tyranny.

Meanwhile the little Italian crept aloof,
and wondered if all English welcomes were
like this, and whether English boys always

THE NEW PUPIL.

fought in this fashion. The poor little
fellow's thoughts went back to his own
sunny garden, where he used to sleep away
the day under the orange trees, with the
clear sky of Rome above him, and his
nurse besides him, with her soft Italian
ditties, and her stories of the ancient
glory of the Monti. Then he woke from
this reverie to find himself in the dull
playground, with its high walls shutting
out everything but the cold grey English
sky.

The fight terminated as fights do not
always — the right won. Archibald's skill
and steadiness were more than a match for
Morris's weight and size — especially as he
kept cool, and Morris lost his temper. The
latter was laid prostrate on the ground.
Half of the boys raised a cry of triumph and
congratulation to the victor; the others,
still too much afraid of their fallen enemy,
maintained a doubtful silence. McKaye
picked up his adversary, saw that he was
not hurt, and then was well content to let

THE NEW PUPIL.

him retire with a few obsequious friends
to wash his face, and remove all traces of
the battle before meeting the doctor's eye.

"Your man has won, my little fellow,"
said one of the boys, clapping Niccolo on
the shoulder. "O be joyful! you're safe
now from Morris Woodhouse. Mac has
fought it out for you. Are you not much
obliged to him?"

" I am, indeed I am," cried the young
Italian ; and, warm and impassioned in all
his impulses, he ran to Archibald, seized
his hand, kissed it, and poured forth a
stream of grateful thanks.

But Archibald, turning very red, drew
his hand away: he saw the other boys
beginning to laugh, and a natural shyness
caused him to dislike being made the sub-
ject of such passionate gratitude.

" There, that will do, my boy ; you need
not say so much; I only fought for you
because you were too little to fight for
yourself. Only mind not to vex Morris
another time."

THE NEW PUPIL.

The warm-hearted Italian shrunk back,
with the tears standing in his eyes. He
did not speak to McKaye again until the
dinner-bell had rung, and all the other
boys had rushed into the house. Archibald
stayed behind, rubbing the mud from his
jacket, when Niccolo crept up to him, and
offered to assist.

"What, Kttle one, is that you?" said
McKaye. '' Come, then ; you may as well
help to set me to rights again."

" I should have come before, but that I
thought you were angry with me."

" Angry ! Oh, no ! Only I did not quite
like being made a fool of before the boys
with your kissing my hand. We don't do
it here : but I suppose it was only your
Italian fashion."

*' I cannot do anything right," sighed
the poor child. " Ah ! England is a strange
place. I shall never be happy here."

" Oh, but you will in time, when you

Tiave got accustomed to us all. I had to

go through just the same ; for I am a

THE NEW PUPIL.

stranger, like you, as, I dare say, you
heard Morris say. The mean fellow, he is
always taunting me wdth my country and
my tongue, as if a Scotsman were not as
good as an Englishman every inch : ay,
and better too," said Archibald, compress-
ing his lips, and clenching his hands, in
ill-concealed indignation. " But, come,
little felloAv; this does not much interest
you, so we'll go in to dinner."

''I am afraid," murmured Niccolo,
shrinking back.

" Pshaw ! What arc you afraid of ?
Morris won't eat you. Come."

But the child still hung back, and at
last burst into tears.

" Oh, I wish I were in my own dear
Italy ! I am so miserable," he sobbed.
*' Oh that I could go home !"

There Avas something in the boy's
desolate condition that touched Archibald's
heart. He thought of his far-off home,
which he dearly loved, and felt compassion
for the poor Italian thus alone in a strange

THE NEW PUPIL.

land. He laid his hand on Niccolo's
shoulder, and his tones lost their schoolboy
roughness, and became as gentle as any
girl's.

" Do'nt cry, there's a good fellow, do'nt
now ! I'll take care of you. We are both
strangers here; and Ave'U both fight our
way together. Come, we shall be excellent
friends, I know."

Niccolo dried his tears, and looked
gratefully in the face of the elder boy.

'' There, now, that's right," said McKaye.
"And be a man, do! Nobody's good
for anything that isn't a real man ! Cheer
up, my wee fellow. And, by the bye, what
shall I call you ? I'll never remember
that long, fine sounding name of yours."

The other smiled. " My nurse used to
call me Nicoletto, and Nicolettino. Is that
too long?"

Archibald shook his head : " I am afraid
it is. Besides, the boys will laugh at it,
and call you Nick, and Old Nick ; but you
don't understand this I see," added he,

THE NEW PUPIL.

laughing. '' Well, can't you think of
another name? You seemed to have
plenty of names to spare."

" My father always called me Cola ; and
I like that name best too.''

" Cola, Cola. Aye, that will do very
well. \nd now, friend Cola, let me give
you one piece of advice : Say as little
as you can about your father the count,
and the princes your ancestors, and all that
sort of thing ; you will only get laughed
at for it here. I think I have myself as
long a pedigree as most people, and am
rather proud of it too ; but I never talk
about it ; and you had better do the same.
That is the first thing for you to re-
member ; and I'll tell you a few other
things by and bye. Now let us go in to
dinner.'*

CHAPTER II.

AT SCHOOL.

It is astonishing what an effect one good
example has sometimes. AVhen Cola, as
we shall henceforth call him, was again left
in the power of his new schoolmates,
dming the houi* between supper and bed-
time, no one attempted to ill-treat him, or
ventured more than a few harmless jokes
at his queer accent and manners. True,
these jokes were very annoying to the boy,
who was alike proud and shy, and had
been brought up as the only son of a noble
family, always treated Avith respect. More
than once he looked appealingly at his
protector McKaye ; but Archibald seemed
not disposed to extend his championship
further than was absolutely required. He

AT SCHOOL.

quietly left Cola to make his own way
with the boys, and find his own level;
which was indeed the wisest course for
both the protector and the protected.

Morris Woodnouse sat sullenly aloof.
His authority had been shaken for the first
time, and he felt proportionably humbled.
The " king of the school" trembled on his
throne. Some few stings of conscience
mingled with his vexation ; for Morris was
not on the whole a bad boy, only he had
that love of power which seems inherent
in the nature of boys and men, and often
degenerates into the most insufferable
tyranny. Yet there were some few in
the school who rather liked him than
otherwise ; for he had in him a careless
generosity, and, moreover, being a rich
man's son, had Avherewithal to exercise it.
The lovers of cake and playthings always
stood by Morris Woodhouse; and those
quiet-tempered boys who would give way
to anybody, declared that he was a tolerably
good fellow, so long as you did not con-

AT SCHOOL.

tradict him. These gathered round their
fallen master, and made a little conclave,
while the more sturdy and independent
sided with McKaye. Thus the school
bade fair to become divided into two dis-
tinct factions. So engrossing was this
warfare that nobody thought of playing
off on young Cola the usual tricks which
mark the reception of the "new boy."
Consequently the Italian crept into his
bed without finding the blankets sewed
up, or a furze bush for his bed-fellow, or
any of those agreeable contrivances for
making a new-comer as miserable as pos-
sible, which usually take place on the first
night at school.

It was a great and painful change to
the young foreigner, from the pleasant
southern home, of which he dared not
speak, to the restraints of an English
school. The long hours of study were
irksome to him beyond expression ; more
especially as he then felt acutely his own

ignorance. His class-fellows were the
c 17

AT SCHOOL.

very youngest boys ; and Cola's idle and
desultory habits seemed to forebode that it
would be a long time before he got above
them. Every day he cried over the easiest
lessons; and then the other boys laughed
at him, and his hot southern blood boiled
over, and he got into battles w^ithout end.

Sometimes, in his distress. Cola would
go to his old friend Archibald. But
McKaye had lessons enough of his own ;
though diligent and hardworking, he was
not a quick boy, and it annoyed him to be
disturbed.

" Get some one else to help you. Cola,''
he would say. '' Wliy don't you go to
Morris ? He always does his Avork quickly,
and has plenty of time to spare."

But Cola would rather have endured
Dr. Birch's cane every day of his life, than
have been indebted to Morris for anything
under the sun. All the fierce hatred of
his Italian nature was concentrated against
the boy who had first insulted him. Long
after the feud had been healed, and the

AT SCHOOL.

result of Archibald's battle only remained
in the better behaviour of Woodhouse
towards his schoolmates, Cola nourished
wrath in secret, and lost no opportunity of
showing it.

And with these bad feelings were united
others, which might almost be said to take
their rise in the best emotions of his na-
ture. The more Cola loved Archibald the
more he hated Morris. These two boys
seemed made to be rivals in everything.
jMcKaye's steady perseverance kept pace
with Morris's talents ; and while the latter
was first in the class, Archibald always
contrived to be second. The same ri-
valry extended to the playground, where
Woodhouse for the first time found an
opponent equal in strength and activity to
liimself. Strange to say, while the whole
school was divided by partisanship, the
two leaders got on very well together ; and
though rivals, bore no personal dislike to
each other. The reason of this was pro-
bably because McKaye was what boys call,

AT SCHOOL.

"a quiet sort of a fellow/' who did not
much care to get the upper hand, pro-
vided he Avas not trampled upon ; and
moreover, because Morris's natural good
temper was not proof against the frank
open way in which this war of emulation
was carried on by Archibald.

But all this did not hinder the others
from many a " row" on the subject of their
two companions ; for there is nothing boys
like so well as fighting. They must fight ;
for a good cause, a bad cause, and no cause
at all. And of all these young belligerents.
Cola Monti was the warmest. Everv tri-
umpli of Archibald over Morris gave him
the keenest satisfaction ; every wrong done
to his friend, he felt like an insult to
himself. Passionate in all his emotions,
the Italian would have done anything in
the world to injure Morris, or to serve
Archibald.

McKaye took all this torrent of affection
with the quietness of his nature. It was
pleasant to find all his books arranged, his

AT SCHOOL.

room in order ; and his garden attended
to. Now and then he thanked his little
friend with a good-humoured smile and a
kindly word. But all the under-currents
of the young Italian's feelings were quite
incomprehensible to him : indeed he never
sought to penetrate them.

Thus the half-year passed, and the
midsummer holidays drew near, with the
examination, which formed the grand
epoch at Dr. Birch's establishment. So
important indeed was it, that we must give
it a new chapter.

CHAPTER TIL

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

*' At what are you working away so hard,
Archy?" wbispered Cola to his friend, as
he came into the schoolroom, in the dusk
of the evening, and found McKaye in the
midst of his books, trying to make the
most of what little light there was. '' Do
come ; we are having such a capital game
at prisoners'-base."

" I can't ! really I can't ! Now do go
away, there's a good lad, and leave me to
finish this Greek exercise. You know it
is for the examination to-morrow.'*

" I thought you had done all your
work?"

"Yes, this is the last page of the

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

book : I must finish it. Here, fetcli me
that Lexicon, and be off with you to
play!"

Cola brought the book: but instead of
going away, he sat down quietly on a form
opposite, and watched the anxious coun-
tenance of Archibald, who was at work so
hard, that he hardly seemed to notice his
presence.

" It's no use, I can see no longer, and
my head aches badly enough,'' McKaye
said at last, throwing himself back, de-
spondingly.

"How much have you left undone?'*
said Cola.

'' Only one line : I can do that to-
morrow morning."

'' Then come out and play ? "

But Archy stretched himself wearily on
the bench. '' No, no ! I am so tired ; and
my head is quite stupid with thinking about
to-morrow. I wonder, Cola, how I shall
stand at this Greek examination ! There's
Forster, and Williams, and Campion."

COLA Monti's uevenge.

"They are all below you, as every one
acknowledges."

'' Yes, all but Morris Woodhouse. Ah !
he is sure to get the best : he is so clever.
And yet, I have worked so hard; and I
did want to gain the Greek prize : it
would please my father very much. Well,
well, it cannot be helped."

Cola, as he sat in the twilight, clenched
his small hands, and knitted his brows ;
the very idea of Morris's gaining such a
triumph was scarcely endurable. " Archy,"
said he, '' how do you know that ? how can
you be sure that Morris will get it?"

"Because the doctor is so particular
about Greek exercises, pad Woodhouse's
are always so good: that will be the
turning point, as all the boys say."

And just at this moment, the quiet
schoolroom was entered by a troop of
merry lads, riotous with the prospect of
approaching holidays.

"What, not done yet, McKaye !" cried
one.

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

'' Tve done all my work !'' '' And I !"
''' And I V echoed several others.

" Now for it, let us see which is the
best, Morris or McKaye!" said another
boy, pulling about the Greek books.
" Here's McKaye's exercise. Now, Morris,
let's have yours."

" I have a good deal to do at mine yet,"
answered Morris, carelessly.

" Ah ! that's just like you ! you always
leave everything to the last."

''' Because nothing gives me any trouble.
I can do in five minutes what would take
McKaye an hour," said Woodhouse, with
•a smile of conscious superiority, which
made Archy bite his lips in vexation, and
brought a throng of violent feelings to the
bosom of Cola, the more so as it was
literally true.

" Well, well ! out with your exercise-
books, and let us compare them," was the
universal cry.

So hard had McKaye worked, that, as
far as the boys could judge, there was

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

little to choose between the two, especially
in the point which struck their attention
most, and about which they knew the
doctor was very particular — the clearness
and distinctness of the Greek characters,
and the neatness of the whole.

" Well — except that Woodhouse is the
dux, and has been longest at school, I
should think the doctor would be puzzled
to decide," acknowledged Forster, one of
Morris's own adherents : '' it's ' neck and
neck,' as the jockeys say."

'' But Morris's exercise is not done yet,'*
interposed one on McKaye's side. *' If he
should fail, you are sure of the prize,
Archy."

'' Don't trouble yourselves, my lads,"
said Morris, loftily : I am quite satisfied
about the matter myself."

"Well, take your books, fellows, and
let us leave the affair to the doctor," ob-
served one of the wisest of the group,
who saw that the discussion was likely to
become warm.

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

" I shall leave mine here, and get up
half an hour earlier than usual to finish
it/' said Morris, tossing the exercise book
down carelessly and walking away, the
very picture of self-satisfaction. He had
too good an opinion of his own merits to
feel any anxiety about his success. "Wiiilc
McKaye spent the evening until bedtime,
in arrangmg his books, and poring over
everything with pale and anxious looks,
his rival laughed and whistled, and betted
on the different competitors beneath him,
with the most perfect self-confidence.

l.liere were many sleepless eyes that
niglit in the various dormitories where the
doctor's young flock were ranged. Each
had a tiny room to himself, so that all
conversation on the one grand subject
ceased with the time of retiring to rest ;
otherwise the important matter of the
examination might have been talked over
until davliorht.

But of all these restless young hearts,
none beat so violently as that of Cola.

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

Gifted by nature with a quality peculiar to
his countrymen, — one which in a good
cause is called acuteness, in a bad one,
cunning, — the Italian revolved within his
mind every conceivable plan for effecting
the downfall of his enemy, and the conse-
quent triumph of his friend. Accustomed
from his childhood to hear revenge talked
of as a virtue, especially when exercised
on behalf of one both dear and injured,
Cola never thought for a moment that
he was doing anything wrong in thus
scheming. When at last he hit upon a
plan which seemed likely to serve his pur-
pose, he leaped out of bed and danced
about for joy, so that the wakeful Archibald
called to him from the next room to know
what was the matter.

As soon as day began to peep, Cola
rose, dressed himself, and crept noiselessly
down to the schoolroom. It cost him a
world of pains to unfasten the shutters
without making any sound to disturb the
family ; but he succeeded. Then he

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

hunted in the dim Hght for the exercise-
books which had been left the night before ;
and seizing Morris's, he jumped out of the
low window, and ran like lightning through
the garden, to a paddock belonging to the
house, where there was a small pond.

The young conspirator had laid his plans
with a skill and ingenuity worthy of an
older head. He found a heavy stone, took
some strong twine out of his pocket, and
carefully fastened the stone and the book
together; then he deliberately sank them
both to the bottom of the pond.

As Cola saw the book disappear, he clap-
ped his hands and set up a shout of delight.
If it had been poor Morris himself, instead
of his exercise-book, that had sunk be-
neath the deep waters, the revengeful boy
•would almost have done the same.

*' Archibald, caro, carissimo 11110^ he
murmured in his Italian tongue, which he
invariably used when excited, " it is for
you, all for you ! "

And then a rustling in the bushes, pro

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

bably of some early bird, startled him;
he fled back to the house, carefully
fastened every thing just as he had found
it, and crept into bed again, just as the
first sunshine of a midsummer morning
lighted up his room.

Morris, with his usual heedlessness, did
not rise until there were but a few minutes
left of the half-hour which he had allowed
himself to finish the exercise. Then the
book, of course could not be found. He
searched everywhere, he blamed everybody,
— except himself, — but all to no purpose.
Some of the most good-natured of the
boys helped him to look for the missing
book ; but others only jested with him ;
and not a few felt inwardly glad that his
self-assurance was thus brought low.

Meanwhile, Cola stood silent and aloof,
his triumphant eye alone showing how
keen was his delight in the scene. Only
once he crept quietly up to Archibald, who
sat finishing the last line of his task, with-
out taking heed of what was going on.
so

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

"Arcliy, dear Archy!" whispered lie;
" dp you hear ? you will win now. Are
you not glad?"

"Hushf' said McKaye, when he com-
prehended the state of affairs. " Don't be
so ungenerous, Cola." And he went up
to Morris, and tried to assist in the search ;
but the other repulsed him angrily.

'' Don't come here with your sanctified
face," cried Woodhouse, " I know you are
glad, heartily glad; as I should be, if I
were in your place. Be off with you !"

Archibald's face flushed, and he turned
back. If Cola had then asked him, "Are
you glad!" it would have been harder to
answer, " No."

The breakfast-bell rang, and all was
over with poor Morris, for immediately
afterwards the examination began. There
was no hope for the unfortunate dux in
Doctor Birch's angry brow: the school-
master at once attributed the loss of the
book to carelessness, Morris's one un-
conquerable fault. It annoyed him ; for

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

he was proud of his clever pupil, whom
he had expected to do credit to the school.
But there could be no doubt that the
prize was justly McKaye's.

*' It might have been yours still, even
had Woodhouse not lost his book,'' said
the candid master, as he examined the
carefully written tasks before him. " You
have done very well, McKaye, and deserve
your prize, — that is, to a certain extent ;
but I wish the contest could have been
quite on fair ground."

"Are you not happy now?" whispered
the little Italian to his friend, when
McKaye went away with his prize. '' Look
at Morris : see, he is white with rage. Ob
how glad I am he is beaten at last I Are
you not glad, Archy ?"

There was a look on McKaye's face that
was not like perfect happiness. He was
alike too honest and too proud to be quite
contented with a doubtful triumph, a suc-
cess on suflferance. And when the boys
gathered round to see his prize, there was

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

a jeering smile in the countenances of
some of Morris's friends, that vexed
Archy much. He answered Cola rather
roughly —

" Don't teaze me, Cola. I am not glad ;
and revenge is very dishonourable. I
don't want to be talked to. Do run away
and play. You see all the rest are going."

Cola looked at him with a mixture of
surprise, anger, and wounded feeling ;
biit he did not speak until they were both
alone in the schoolroom. Then he said, — •

" You are angry, you send me away ;
and yet you do not know what I have
done for you."

"Nonsense, my boy: I think you are
more pleased at being revenged on Morris,
than at my getting the prize."

Cola drew up his slight small figure,
and a world of passionate feeling flashed
from his dark, brilliant, Italian eyes.

" You are right, Archy. I am glad to be
revenged : every one is — in my country*.
If I had had Morris in Rome, I a man,

D 33

COLA MONTIES REVENGE.

and he too ; we would have fought, and I
would have killed him."

Archibald turned away in disgust. His
cahn temperament felt only horror at find-
ing such notions in a boy so young. " I
tell you what, Cola*, if you do not take
care, you will come to be hanged."

" Hanged ! " cried the excited boy.
" And you, Archy, you talk so, when I did
it all for your sake ? "

"AU! What?"

" I was determined you should have the
prize, and not Morris ; so I tied a stone
to the book, and sank it in the pond."

'' Sank it in the pond ? How dai-ed you
do such a thing ? Are you not ashamed of
yourself."

" Not in the least. I loved you, and I
hated him ; so I did what was right, and I
got what I wanted."

Archibald, utterly confounded by the
boy's confession, and by the sudden re-
vulsion it occasioned, sank down on a seat,
and remained for several minutes without

COLA MONTI S REVENGE.

Uttering a word. It was a trying position
for the poor boy to be placed in. He had
struggled so hard to win this prize, he
knew that he deserved it; and yet every
honourable feeling rebelled against keeping
that which had been gained by a mean
trick. Then, on the other hand, if he
declared the tiTith, it would heap dis-
grace and punishment upon Cola, who had
erred chiefly through love of him. While
Archibald's reason condemned the act, his
heart v/hispered that it was not so bad
after all. No one would ever know it ;
it would please his father so much to
see the bright silver inkstand, as a token
of his son's diligence. While McKaye's
thoughts took this turn, he lifted up his
eyes to the so-longed-for treasure; they
rested on the doctor's favourite motto,
which he had caused to be engraved on
it —

'' Ante omnia Veritas :^^ "Truth above
all things." It went to the boy's heart
with conviction irresistible.

COLA Monti's revenge.

'' It is of no use, I cannot keep it/*
cried he ; and without another look at his
prize, he rushed out of the room. Cola
heard his steps along the hall, his tre-
mulous knock at the doctor's study door,
and felt that all was over. The plan of
revrenge had failed.

»6

CHAPTER IV.

THE DETECTION,

In the afternoon the boys wei*e startled
from their holiday sports by a general
summons to Dr. Birch's study. All went
with considerable surprise : Cola in fear,
anger, and mortification. For a long time
he could not believe that Archibald had
really betrayed him; and in his ai'dent
nature, the feeling of wounded affection
almost overpowered his hatred towards
Morris.

" Young gentlemen," said the school-
master, in his gravest tones, " I have sent
for you to speak about a story which has
reached my ears, concerning the Greek
prize. You all know it was given to
Archibald McKaye, in consequence of

3)8

THE DETECTION.

Morris Woodhouse's book having been
lost ; thereby leaving Archibald, as second
boy, the sole competitor. Now McKaye,
with an honesty and generosity which I
am sure you will respect as much as I do,
tells me that the book was lost intention-
ally; in fact, taken by another school-
fellow, who desired to injure Woodhouse.
The name of this boy McKaye has en-
treated me not to enquire : nor do I wish
to know ; not for the sake of the culprit,
but out of regard to the generous scruples
of Archibald. Now, young gentlemen,
what I wish to say is this : that as honesty
justice, and truth, are above all things, I
have accepted McKaye's resignation of his
prize. Although it cannot be given to
Woodhouse, it will remain in my hands
for competition at the next half-year.
And as to the unknown culprit, who
stands among you, I make no enquiries,
leaving him to the reproaches of his own
conscience. But I shall carefully watch
the conduct of every one of you ; and

THE DETECTION.

wherever I find cause, shall visit vnth. the
severest punishment."

This speech, the longest that Doctor
Birch was ever known to make, was list-
ened to in dead silence : the boys looked
at one another in wonder and suspicion.

"I did not do it, sir!" ^^ Nor I!"
" Nor I !" cried several of them.

*' Silence!" answered the master's so-
norous voice. '' I want no confessions, I
accuse no one; but I wish all of you to
know, and Woodhouse especially, how
much I respect McKaye ; and how I con-
sider such an act as this far more creditable
to him than winning a Greek prize. Now,
gentlemen, retire."

The boys were about to obey, when a
knock came to the study-door*, it was a
lad from the village, who said he had
something to communicate to the Doctor.

" Very well. Go out, young gentlemen,"
said the schoolmaster.

''Please, sur," interposed the lad, grin-
ning, " it's about them I comed to speak.

THE DETECTION.

One on'em has lost a book, I reckon ; T-e
found it." And he laid on the table, still
fastened to the stone, and thoroughly sa-
turated with water, the very exercise-book
- — Morris's — which every one knew weD.

Cola trembled like an aspen, and could
have wished to sink through the floor —
anywhere out of the doctor's piercing eye,
which, in his excited fancy, seemed to
single him out as the guilty one. In the
fervour of his gratitude he had crept up to
Archibald ; and now, in his alarm, he hid
himself behind the sturdy frame of his
friend.

" Where did you find this, young man ?''
was the doctor's inquiry.

" At the bottom of the pond in your
field, sur. T Avas there this morning, bird-
nesting, please your honour, which I hope
you won't take ill, as I didn't mean any
mischief."

" Go on," said the doctor.

*' And there I seed one of your young
gentlemen coming with something in his

THE DETECTION.

hand ; and he tied it to a stone and flung
it into the water. Then he talked some
gibberish, and scampered ofl*. I thought
somehow he might be mad, so I fished the
bundle up again, and brought it here."

The doctor gravely untied the string,
xind found it to be indeed the lost book.
*' Are vou sure that it was one of the
young gentlemen at my house?"

*' Aye, sur, sure enough ; for there he
is," cried the lad ; and his finger pointed
out Cola.

BoiHng with anger, the Italian rushed
tit the village-lad, and shook his tiny fist
in his face.

"Poor young gentleman!" said the fel-
low. '* I were sure he were gone mad."

Nobody else stirred, until Archibald
went up to the master, and said, in a
trembling voice : —

*' Oh, sir, since chance has caused you
to find out this, pray remember your kind
promise, and do not punish Cola. He is
disgraced enough."

THE DETECTION.

"He is indeed/' said Doctor Birch, as
he saw how all the boys had moved away
from Cola, and " sneak," '' cheat," " pitiful
fellow," were murmured on every side.

" It now only remains to decide about
the prize," added the schoolmaster, as he
examined, as well as he could, the wet
leaves of the book.

" Let Morris have it, sir, of course," said
Archibald; and the boys, generally, se-
conded the request. But Morris declined.

" I'll do as the doctor pleases, but really
I'd rather not take it. We'll have another
try next half, Archy. You are a regular
good fellow, and I'm very much obhged
to you: shake hands!" And he gave his
former rival such a hearty gripe that it
made Archibald's eyes water.

" Gentlemen," at last said Doctor Birch,
" the inkstand shall be given to nobody ;
but shall be placed on the school-room
mantle-piece, as a memento and a warning
to you all."

'^ Bravo, that's quite right; thank you^

THE DETECTION.

sir," cried the boys, hardly restrained
by the sacred atmosphere of the doctor's
study, from expressing their feeUngs in a
downright schoolboy hurrah.

''Stay a moment, boys," said the pe-
dagogue, in his sympathy, relaxing for a
moment from the air of gravity which he
always thought it necessary to assume in
his study. Then resuming his severe look,
he called, '' Niccolo Monti."

Trembling, crimson and pale by turns,
the boy moved to his master's chair. His
anger had sunk into the deepest shame
and sorrow.

'' Niccolo Monti," said the doctor, " if
I Avere to punish you, I should break
my word, which I never do; and be-
sides, I should inflict pain upon that good
honest boy, McKaye. Your only excuse
is, that you d?vd this partly out of af-
fection for him. But in any case, deceit
is a sin, and revenge is one still greater.
You have escaped punishment; but I
conunand you to ask pardon of Morris

THE DETECTION.

Woodhouse for having so sliamefally in-
jured him."

The angry spirit of old shone in Cola's
eyes, and he stood immoveable. But
Morris, whose unlooked-for success had
softened his heart, showed a kindness and
generosity that astonished every one.

" Come, Cola," he said, " you need not
ask my pardon ; I am not at all vexed
with you now ; you are only a little fellow
compared with me ; you could not do me
much harm. I'll treat you better in future ;
tind then perhaps you won't hate me so
much. Shake hands, Avill you ?"

And another of Morris's rough grasps
was bestowed on his younger adversary.
It touched Cola's quick feelings more than
^aiy ])nnishment.

'' Thank you, Morris," said he, in a low
Temorseful tone, and then rushed upstairs
<md shut himself up in his own little
room.

CHAPTER Y.

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

It was a fortunate thing for Cola that,
immediately after the examination which
had brought him to such shame, his school-
fellows dispersed for the holidays. The
only two who were to remain at Doctor
Birch's, were those whose homes were so
far distant, Archibald and Cola. To the
former it was a sore disappointment, when
he received the news that another year
must pass before he would again see
Scotland. He had longed so after it, as
the summer grew ; and many a time had
he talked to Cola and his other play-mates,
of all the sports he expected, mountain
rambles, shooting, and fishing ; and gallop-
ing over the free heather on his little

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

Shetland pony. Poor Archibald ! and he
had to give up all this for a month spent
in the formality and dullness of Doctor
Birch's academy, to which he had been
sent by a rich English uncle. But his
own father was a poor Highland laird.
The journey north was an impossible ex-
pense; and he was well aware that the
dear mother whose pride he was, and the
gentle sister, who longed to hear '' English
news" fi'om brother Archy, would be as
disappointed as himself. So he tried to
forget it, and to look quite contented,
when the rest of the boys were merrily
going home.

Every one seemed sorry to leave him,
and Morris Woodhouse, as he galloped off
with his father's groom behind him, said
he would soon come and fetch his fonner
rival to spend a day or two with him at
Westwood Park. Archibald thought this
promise was not likely to be fulfilled ; but
he thanked Morris, and felt glad that at
all events there was no enmity between
them now. And then, when all the boys

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

were gone, McKaye went back to the
deserted schoolroom. It looked dull and
dark and miserable.

'* Four long weeks in this place! whatever
shall I do with myself?" sighed Archibald.

His sighs were echoed from the darkest
corner; and there, crouched down out of
sight, sat poor Cola. No one had noticed
or spoken to him. He felt thoroughly
desolate ; and when he lifted up his head,
there were the marks of two large tears
down his cheeks. Archy saw that there
was one person in the world more
miserable than himself. With sudden im-
pulse, he went up to the boy.

" Come, Cola, my lad ! brighten up ! I
am not going home neither. But since it
cannot be helped, we must try to make
ourselves content. I am sure my mother
is very sorry not to see me ; and T dare
say yours is too."

"No! she is not!" cried Cola, passion-
ately. '' She does not want me to come
to her, and I don't wish to go."

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

Archibald looked somewhat surprised.
"I thought that you were very fond of
your mother, as all good boys ought to
be."

" Yes : but I hate her now, because she
has gone and married a stranger with a
horrible Russian name; and she says I
must not come home. Home ! I have
none now ! Oh, if I could only meet
that man she has married ! Do you know
what Ave do in Italy to those w^hom we
hate, and who have injured us ?"

"Give them a horsewhipping!" sug-
gested Archibald.

" No !" cried Cola, with his eyes glaring.
" But we wait quietly, in the night, and
stab them, and throw them into the river.
That was what my great grandfather — '"

" Then your great grandfather was a
very wicked man : and I will not have
anything to say to you, if you talk in that
Avay, you little ruffian !" said Archy, as he
walked awav.

Cola was softened in a moment. His

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

angry mood changed. He took Archibald's
hand, and promised to think no more of
such things. Then McKaye spoke to him
quietly and gravely on the wickedness of
revenge. First, as being a great sin ; and
also as bringing its own punishment upon
the head of the avenger himself.

" Cola," said he, " I'll tell you a story
which my father once told me, when I had
been wishing to have my revenge on a
fellow who spoiled my fishing-rod on pur-
pose to vex me. There was once a bad
man, who hated almost every body, except
an only son, of whom he was very fond.
Well, he had one enemy, whom he hated
most of all, for some injury done many
years ago; and one day he laid wait for
him behind a hedge, to shoot him; but
just as he cocked the pistol, it caught in
the hedge, and went off. And who do
you think it killed ? Not his enemy ; but
his own son, who was walking quietly
along the road. And so, said my father,
when he had told me this, ' never wish for

E 49

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

revenge ! for, depend upon it, the punish-
ment always comes/ "

Cola turned pale. Archy had not said
anything about the incident of the book :
but the Italian knew that it was in his
mind ; and he felt ashamed at having
again shown the evil feeling that was so
deeply rooted in his mind. Archibald
saw that his words were not thrown away ;
and, wilHng to change the current of the
boy's thoughts, he proposed that they
should stroll down the village: and oif
they set together.

It was strange to observe how much
the calm and equable temper of McKaye
influenced the impulsive disposition of
Cola. Though opposite in many things,
they seemed to agree, as Foster, the wit
of the school, observed, " like a dove-tailed
joint.'' The one bond of union was
probably, as Archibald had at first said,
in their both being strangers. But now
being left quite alone, their characters
blended and harmonized; and their pur-

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

suits necessaiily grew much the same.
Their characters, also, became mutually
improved. Cola's warm openheartedness
tempered Archibald's reserve; and Me
Kaye's steady good sense guided the wild
impetuosity of the younger boy.

The two friends contrived to spend the
holiday time without half the dullness they
expected. There were the long rambles
in the fields, where Archibald, country-
born and country-bred, showed to Cola
many wonders, of which the boy never
dreamed in his stately 2^^^^^^o at Rome ;
the quiet sunny afternoons spent over
some pleasant book, which the elder read,
and explained wherever Cola's imperfect
English failed ; the garden stroll in the
twilight, a time for confidential walks and
talks about many subjects, which had been
almost forbidden in the school at large, so
terrible is ridicule to boys. But now Cola
ventured to talk about his old home, and
his nurse Mona, and all the wonders of
beautiful Rome, especially its pictures and

D 2 51

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

its statues. Upon these the enthusiastic
boy dwelt with an earnestness which would
have shown to a more acute observer than
Archibald the bias of his mind, though
still so young.

But though McKaye did not enter into
all Cola's feelings, he felt a natural curiosity
to hear about far countries ; and w^as in-
terested and pleased in listening to his
young companion. After a while. Cola
even took courage to talk about the sub-
ject which had excited the mirth of his
schoolfellows ; and many a tale did he tell
Archibald, of the ancient honours of the
Monti family. The boy was a true Italian
even in his pride. In this, McKaye felt
most sympathy with the " little fellow,'' (as
he still called the small-limbed delicate
boy,) for he was proud enough himself —
like most Scotchmen. Many an hour was
spent over such talk by the two boys ; so
dijBFerent, and yet alike ; for each — one in
his Northern, the other in his Southern
home — had been brought up in equal

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

solitude, with ideas of life and of the world
more speculative than real.

Still, in all these conversations, the dif-
ference of character showed itself. While
Cola recounted wdth delight the history
of those great men who had, either as
soldiers, statesmen, or poets, shed a glory
on their ancient name, Archibald spoke of
those sterling honest men, in whom Scot-
tish records abound, who had fought for
the right, either with hand or tongue, or
pen, or perhaps all tliree; and of those
others, born in lower rank, who had
worked their way to success solely by their
own energy and strength of purpose.

*' After all," Archibald would say, when
they had held a long discussion on this
topic, " I don't know but that to set to
work for oneself, and rise to be something
great on one's own account, is better than
having a long string of dead ancestors."

So spoke Archibald's good common
sense ; but it was hardly to be expected
that two such young heads should settle

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

clearly a point which has puzzled many a
wise and greyhaired one.

However, with all this talk, Cola and
Archy passed the holidays without any
quarrelling, and with very little dulness.
Once the Italian was left to his own re-
sources, for Morris actually remembered
his promise, and came to fetch his old foe
to visit him. But, somehow, McKaye
never felt quite comfortable in the large
splendid house ; perhaps his pride fancied
that there was a good deal of ostentation
in his schoolfellow's hospitality, and he
returned with pleasure to school, and to
Cola's joyful welcome.

Thus almost before they thought the
month had gone by, the holidays were
over : the Doctor came back from his
London trip, and by degrees all his young
flock were gathered around him. School-
business began again ; there were some
new faces, and there was much for the old
pupils to hear and relate ; so that Cola

and the exercise book were entirely for-
&4

HOLIDAYS AT SCHOOL.

gotten. A great change had come over
the boy : he had learned to think and to
reason, whereas before his only guides
were his feelings. He had acquired a
measure of self-control, and in every way
was different from the " new boy," who,.
six months before, had been by turns
abused and ridiculed. In short, as Archy
told him, he was growing to be " a man/"

CHAPTER VJ.

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS OF COLA AS A
CARICATURIST.

When Cola Monti had been a year at Dr.
Birch's, he had contrived to make for him-
self a good position in the school. He
had not fought his way to this, as most
boys are obliged to do, never being good
at fighting; but he had gained it by his
cfuick talents, his readiness to oblige, and
his frank, cheerful temper. True, all these
good quahties did not shine forth at once ;
l)ut brightened by degrees. Wlien his
laziness was once conquered, the boys, aye,
and Dr. Birch too, found out that the little
foreigner bade fair to be quite as clever as
Morris Woodhouse. And when, no longer
repressed by ill-usage, his naturally blithe
temper showed itself, the rest acknow-

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS.

ledged that there was not a merrier fellow
in the school than Cola Monti.

In time he became universally liked,
even more so than his steady friend
Archibald. Every one respected the sen-
sible, persevering, honest Scottish boy ;
but all chose the merry Cola for a play-
mate or a confidant. Archibald looked on
all this, and felt right glad. He liked
Cola heartily ; and the regard he had
shown to the poor friendless boy remained
constant to the pet of the school. And it
was requited by Cola with the most un-
bounded affection. General favourite as
he now was, he never forgot the old times
when Archy was his only defender; and
perhaps McKaye too thought, with a little
justifiable self-complacency, that he had
himself been the first upholder and coun-
sellor of the boy who had now so many
friends.

One day. Cola's schoolfellows made a
discovery, which raised the young Italian
at once to the height of popularity.

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS.

"What are you about, King Cole?''
said Forster, trying to peep over his slate :
Cola, by a natural school-boy transition^
had degenerated into this nickname, which
was thought most ingenious and applicable
to such " a merry old soul" as the little
Italian. " You have not done your sums
yet?"

" Oh, yes, I have 1 " answered Cola
" Tm only amusing myself now.''

'' Let me see?"

" Wait a minute, and you shall," he
whispered ; *' that is, as soon as the Doctor
has left the school-room."

And that very desirable event having
taken place. Cola turned the slate round,
and showed Forster a capital caricature of
himself. Indeed, so like was it as to fea-
tures, that, but for the iiTcsistibly comical
expression, it could hardly be called a
caricature, Forster being i remarkable
ugly boy, though his good temper and
wit atoned for his plainness.

There was a general bui*st of laughter

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS.

and applause ; for we all like to quiz one
another, though it is a different matter
when the joke is directed against one-self.
However, Forster stood it out as well as
he could.

'' Bravo, King Cole ! you're a dangerous
fellow," cried he. '' Come, try your hand
again ; give us a specimen of Jacob Lee."

'' Stand up, Lee, and let him see you,"
was the cry; and Jacob, a shy, stupid
boy, with a long nose and lanky hair, was
placed to be sketched, amid shouts of
laughter. Another and another followed :
heads of all kinds were added, each
minute garnishing the long rule-of-three
sum with curious marginal oddities. At
last Cola grew more daring.

" Stand off, boys," he said, " and I'll
draw the old Doctor for you."

This was irresitible; and when the
Doctor stood out in relief from the slate,
in all his peculiarities, — his stiff collar, his
upright hair, and his spectacles, the like-
ness was such that the boys gave a

SUCCESSFUL A TEMPTS.

general hurrah. So much noise did they
make, and so intent were they, that no
one heard the door open, until the original
of the portrait looked over Cola's shoulder,
and beheld — himself !

It was a terrible moment in school-bov
annals. The Doctor looked, frowned,
glanced round at the young rebels, then
again at the slate. Whether it was that
natural vanity made him feel rather pleased
to see the only likeness of himself which
had ever been taken, or whether Cola's
sketch had less of caricature than nature,
it is impossible to say; but Dr. Birch
smiled — absolutely smiled! He was a
good-tempered man, and the boys knew it ;
they took advantage of it sometimes, the
naughty fellows ! So the smile gradually
went round, until it became a laugh, and
the schoolmaster could not help laughing
too.

" So this is the way you amuse
yourselves, boys," said he at last. The
culprits knew his ire was not very great,

Dies young Caricaturist

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS.

or else he would have said, " gentle-
men." One and all they begged for-
giveness.

*' Please, Sir, we did not mean any
disrespect ; and isn't it a good likeness?"

'' Silence ! Let me hear no more of this,"
said Dr. Birch as gravely as he could.
*'And Cola Monti, another time, make
game of your schoolfellows, if you choose,
but not of your master."

So the Doctor went away ; but from that
time the popularity of Cola was established
more than ever. His talents were in
constant requisition : every quaint head>
every oddity of expression, was made the
subject of his pencil, and gradually the
slate was cast aside for the dignity of
paper and chalk. All the boys in their
turn underwent the ordeal of having their
peculiarities brought to light, all except
Archibald McKaye. No persuasion could
induce Cola to make a caricature of hh
friend; he always found some excuse or
other to put it off. At last, the boy&

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS.

teamed him, and said Archy's face was
beyond his skill.

'' Give me ten minutes, and vou shall
sec/' answered Cola.

Archibald looked surprised, and rather
vexed ; for one of his weaknesses was,
that he could not bear to be laughed
at ; however he took his station. Cola
finished the sketch, but it was no car-
icature ; it was a capital likeness of Archi-
bald's thoughtful head, with the curling
hair, and the calm, serious eyes.

'' Why, Cola, you ought to be an artist,"
cried the boys, when they saw it.

Cola smiled, and his eyes kindled. " I
will try!" he said in his own heart, and
from that day he drew no more caricatures.

There was a person who came to the
school every week, to give lessons to some
of the boys. He was a poor country
drawing-master ; poor, in every sense,
having no idea of art beyond making
pencil sketches of cottages, that looked
always tumbling down, children with im-

SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS.

niense heads, and ladies with hands no
larger than their noses. But even the
slight instruction that he could give, it
was impossible for Cola to obtain.

" Why don't you learn of Mr. White ?"
the boys were always asking him. And
Cola was too proud and too sensitive to
let them know, that, beyond the payments
to Doctor Birch, his mother, or rather, her
avaricious husband, would expend no other
money on the fatherless boy. But by
observation, and by casual inquiries of the
other boys. Cola learnt the manner of
handling the chalk, and much other useful
information. Besides, his naturally correct
eye aided him more than bad teaching
would have done, so that he probably lost
nothing from missing the advantages he
envied so much.

After a while, there came some further
help. One of the boys brought the in-
telligence that a print shop had been set
up in the village. This was indeed a
novelty to all: to Cola it was glorious

SUCCESSFUL ATIEMPTS.

news. He carried in his memory faint im-
pressions of the pictm^es which he had seen
in his childhood, in the great city of Art.
Many and many a time had he talked to
Archibald of the marvellous paintings in
the Vatican, and the Sistine chapel. He
could not understand them then ; but he
now knew they were wonderful and beau-
tiful. He read about them in some stray
books which had found their way to the
school, and tried hard to arrange and give
form to these faint memories of childhood.
With these exceptions, the boy had no
guide whatever, for the worthy doctor had
not a picture or an engraving in his house.
Therefore the print shop was quite a god-
send to young Cola.

CHAPTER VIL

COLA MONTI MEETS A FELLOW-
COUNTRYMAN.

As soon as the lialf-holiday came touikI,
Cola and Archibald set off to look at the
new attraction in the village. One or
two of the rest went with them, for Cola's
drawings had quite "set the fashion/' as
is not unusual in schools, Avhere, if one
leads, several others are sure to follow.
Hence, chalks and sitters had lately been
at a premium ; and many atrocities in art,
— round eyes, and crooked noses, had
been perpetrated by the younger lads,
who must try to imitate their elders.
Moreover, the keeper of the printshop
was quite surprised to see so many school-
boys stopping at his window daily.

Cola went with a heart which cxpec-

E 65

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

tation caused to beat faster than usual.
The day boarders had brought him de-
scriptions of all the pretty chalk heads
which had taken their fancy, — those one
sees in every print window. Cola almost
knew by heart their accounts of the shep-
herd-boy with his j)ipc; and the girl
kissing her parrot ; and the old man with
a beard, and a long knife which he held
over a young girl. Opinions were divided
as to whether the latter was meant for
Jephthah, or Virginius, or Agamemnon ;
indeed, there had been three pitched bat-
tles on the subject already.

But the print which charmed Cola was
none of these. It was an engraving of
Raphael's Holy Family, that exqusitc oval
which represents the Virgin, Child, and
St. John, and is called the ''Madonna dclla
Sediuy' the Madonna of the chair, because
the great artist painted it from a beautiful
peasant-woman whom he saw sitting at
her cottage -door, with her children beside
her.

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

" Ah, I know this — I remember this !'*
said the young Italian, while his eyes
glistened with delight. '' One like it used
to hang at the foot of my bed when I was
a little child, and nurse Mona always said
her prayers before it every night.''

'' That was very wTong, Cola," observed
the serious Archibald.

Cola did not hear him, he was so ab-
sorbed. " How beautiful — how beautiful
it is!" he said softly. "Look, Archy, at
the child's tiny feet and the hands ; I must
learn how to draw a hand."

" What an odd striped shawl the Virgin
wears ! It's just like some of the patterns
in our mill," cried one of the boys, who
came from Manchester.

Cola's lip curled. " He sees only a
shawl, when there is such a face ! Jacob
Lee, you will never be a painter."

" I don't want to be one," said Jacob
Lee. " I had rather by half manage
father's cotton-mill."

The boy-artist — he was an artist in his

B 2 G7

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

soul already — turned away. It grated on
his mind to hear such words, and he could
hardly hide his sovereign contempt for
the speaker. As they walked homeward,
it took all Archibald's good sense and
right judgment to argue the point satis-
factorily, and prove to the enthusiastic
Cola that a man might be a very excellent
man in his way, mithout any feeling for
Art at all ; and that a good master of a
cotton-mill might make quite as useful a
member of society as a great painter.
Archibald was always a long-headed boy ;
and he thought himself bound to act as
Mentor to the young Italian. On the
other side, Cola invariably listened with
patience and deference, even if his com-
panion was occasionally rather prosy.

Cola and Archy had walked together a
little in the rear of the others, when on
approaching the school-gates, they saw
their playmates tanding in a group.

" Cola, Cola, come here ! We want
you," was the cry.

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN*

Cola ran forward, and saw that they
were collected round a poor organ-boy,
one of those wandering minstrels who are
so common in London streets, and are
now and then met with far down in the
country. The poor fellow lay on the
ffround, with his eves half closed and his
head leaning on his organ. He was not
asleep, but seemed thoroughly exhausted.
His brown cheek was thin and wasted,
and his poor meagre hands seemed, as
the phrase runs, ''nothing but skin and
bone."

" We have spoken to him, and he does
not answer," said one of the boys. " You
must take him in hand, Cola, for he is
very likely a countryman of yours."

Cola's heart throbbed wildly ; he leaned
over the poor boy, and said some words to
him in Italian. The little foreigner, half-
fainting as he was, caught them ; he
started, looked round as if he were dream-
mg, and his eyes fell upon Cola, who
spoke to him again. Never was there such

E 3 09

A FELLDW COUNTRYMAN.

a change as that which came over the poor
boy's face. It was positively lighted up
with rapture. He took Cola's hand and
kissed it. '' lo moro di jame^ was all
he could say ; and when Cola repeated in
English, that the lad was dying of hunger^
there was a rush for great lumps of holiday
cake, which the famished Italian devoured
with avidity.

"This will never do for a poor fellow
who is starving," said McKaye. " Run,
Cola, and beg the cook to give us a good
slice of bread and a bowl of milk; that
is much the best for him."

The restoratives succeeded, and in a
few minutes the boys had the gratification
of seeing their protege sit up and look
around him.

" Now, Cola, ask him what his name is,
and where he comes from, and all about
him," cried they. Dehghted with this ad-
venture. Cola, excited by the old home
memories which the picture he had just

seen had first awakened, spoke again ; his
7a

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

lips trembling over that long-unuttered
and well-beloved native tongue. He soon
learnt that the boy's name was Giuseppe
Montana ; that he had been going through
the country with his organ, when he fell
sick of a fever, and had never been well
since; that he had walked a long way
that day with his organ at his back : but
no one would listen to his playing, or give
him a halfpenny, so that he could get no
food, and had sat down on the road-side
utterly exhausted.

None of the boys doubted the pooi
Iialian's tale; indeed it was sufficiently
proved by his appearance, which was worn
and wretched in the extreme. And when
he looked up and began to speak, the
most suspicious observer might have seen
that there was no deceit or imposition
in that open child-like face, made pre-
maturely old by suffering.

''Ask him if he has got a father, and
why he does not go back to Italy," said
one of the boys to Cola.

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

" I am an orphan, and have no brothers
and sisters," answered Giuseppe, mourn-
fully. " I shall never go back to Rome,
hella Moma, beautiful Rome, where I was
born, and where my father died."

Cola's dark eyes filled with tears. " I
come from Rome too !" he answered in
Italian ; '' and my father is dead also.
You must stay here, and let me help you,
little Giuseppe, if that is your name. I
AV'ish I were a man, that I could take you
to be my little servant ; and we could talk
of home together, and you should never
be hungry any more."

The organ-boy's reply was a torrent of
grateful thanks, uttered in his own-
expressive, though quite untranslateable
speech. But the beloved Italian tongue
fell like music on Cola's ear, and he re-
sponded with equal volubility.

A^bsorbed in the delight of finding a
countryman, he never noticed that the
afternoon was closing in ; and that, one
by one, the boys had gone away to their

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

play; doubtless finding this long conver-
sation in a foreign language not quite so
interesting as they expected. No one was
near except Archy, who sat quietly on a
■stone, fashioning a long ash shoot into a
walking stick. Suddenly the supper-bell
rang, and Cola began to wonder what he
could do with his protege, who was not
Able to walk two miles to the village, and,
moreover, had no money to pay for a
night's lodging when he got there.

Cola ran to Archibald in distress, and
asked what he was to do.

" I thought you would come to this,"
said McKaye, smiling ; " so I waited
quietly until you had done talking in that
queer tongue of yours. It is n't half as
fine as Greek or Gaelic. But come, my
boy, don't look cross ; we must see what
we can do for your new friend."

This was a difficult matter to decide.
Cola with his wann feelings, thought of
bringing in the organ-boy, and giving him
his own supper ; and even requesting

A I^ELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

Doctor Birch to let him sleep with him in
his own room. Archibald shook his head.

" Just like you, Cola ; but it won't do.
In the first place, though the boy does
come from Rome, and you, of course think
him all that is good, — very natural too, —
you cannot make every body else think the
same."

" Oh, Archy ! how unkind ! I am sure
he is a good honest boy,'' expostulated
Cola.

" 1 dare say he is, but the Doctor may
not think so ; and any how, his having
had the fever would frighten every body.
No, no ! Cola, we must not bring him
into the house."

" What ! and let him sleep in the open
air, these cold autumn nights ? He will
die!"

Archy thought for a few minutes.
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Cola. We
will make him a bed in the barn at the
bottom of the field. The coachman will
give us some straw, and a rug; or if he

A FELLOW COUNTRYMAN.

does not like to lend that, the boy is
welcome to my old plaid. Thus you can
manage without offending the doctor, or
getting yourself into trouble."

" Thank you ! thank you, dear Archy ;
there is nobody like you !" cried Cola.

" 'Tis only a bit of common sense," said
the other. " Now go and tell the lad what
we are going to do with him."

Giuseppe was full of thankfulness ; but
when he rose up to walk, his limbs sank
under him.

"Poor fellow!" said McKay e, com-
passionately, " how weak he must be !
Well, never mind : he is but a light
weight, I'll carry him." Which he did as
easily as if he were an infant. Indeed,
Giuseppe seemed little more than a child,
like many others of his class, whom one
sees wandering about, doomed to hardship
at an age when rich men's sons are con-
sidered scarce out of babyhood. The two
friends made a comfortable couch for the
poor little stranger, placed the organ ie-

A FELLOW C0UNTRY3IAN.

f5ide him, and left him to sleep. But
before Cola went to bed, he crept down to
the barn with a great piece of bread and
cheese, which he had saved from his own
supper. The boy was fast asleep.

"It will do for his breakfast when he
wakes," said Cola to himself, and went
back hungry, but happy.

CHAPTER VIII.

A PLAN, AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

Next morning, Cola's first thouglit was,
as might be expected, his young protege.
He found Giuseppe sitting up witli a
cheerful face, eating his bread and cheese ;
and not looking by any means so weak
and palid as he had done the night before.
Nothing could equal the deliglit and
gratitude of the poor organ-boy when he
beheld bis protector. His brown eyes
seemed fairly running over with tears
of joy.

" I have hardly done anything for you,
my poor Giuseppe !" said Cola, in answer
to his fervently-expressed gratitude.

" Yes, you have, Signorino mio ; except
for you, I would have died in the road.

A PLAN, AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

But that was what my mother said to
me before I went away to England, and
I never saAV her again. 'Seppi/ — she
always called me little Seppi, — ' be a good
boy, and tell the truth, and do not steal,
though you are ever so hungry ; then God
will be sure to send some one who will
be kind to you.' And so He sent il
Siffnorino to bring me food, and keep me
from dying.''

Struck by the simple but earnest piety
of the poor orphan. Cola felt determined
not to lose sight of him, but to help him
in every way. In his warm-hearted re-
solutions, the young Italian never thought
how little a school-boy of fourteen can do.
Many a plan had floated through his brain
already, but they were all vague and un-
satisfactory. In the midst of a brilliant
scheme to keep Guiseppi in the village,
and educate and teach him English, Cola
suddenly remembered that his pocket-
money amounted to just ten shillings per
annum, and that, at the present moment,

A PLAN, AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

his purse contained the large sum of three
half pence.

In the midst of these cogitations, while
his little friend watched his countenance
with the most intense anxiety, Cola saw
Archibald coming to the barn.

'' This is good-natured of you, Archy,"
said Cola. '' You must thank him too,"
he added, in Italian, to the organ-boy,
'' for he carried you here on his back, and
has done much for you."

Giuseppe uttered an outburst of Italian
thanks ; but it was evident that his warm-
est feelings were with his own countryman,
whom he watched unceasingly.

" Now, Cola, what do you intend to do
with your new pet? — worse than your
unlucky rabbits."

Cola looked puzzled and uncomfortable.
" I have been thinking, and thinking,
but I cannot fix upon anything. Do help
me, Archy !"

" Well, in the iSrst place, I do not see
that the lad can stay here much longer,

A PLAN AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

because he must want food, and I do not
think it quite fair to levy secret contribu-
tions on the Doctor's larder/' — here he
looked at the fragments of the bread and
cheese.

" I did not steal that/' murmured Cola,
blushing. *' It was my own supper."

''Bravo, my little generous fellow!"
saidMcKaye, clapping him on the shoulder;
*' but you yourself will get as thin as a
maypole, if you go on feeding such a fine
bird with your own meals after this
fashion. No ! we must think of something
else. Ask him what he intends to do."

Cola held a short conversation with his
protege, and then explained that Seppi
wished to travel back to London before
winter, but that his organ was broken and
out of tune, so that nobody would listen
to his playing, and therefore he could only
get on by begging his way from town to
town.

" He says he never begged in his life,
and he feels ashamed/' added Cola ; and

A PLAN AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

Archibald was convinced of the truth,
when he saw large tears on the crimson
cheeks of the little Italian.

" Poor fellow !'' he said. '' If we could
subscribe to get him a new organ. Some
pf the lads have money to spare, which
otherwise they would only waste in
sweetmeats. I thought I heard Morris
Woodhouse offering you a half-crown for
this same boy last night."

" Yes ; but I did not choose to take
it."

*' Cola, Cola ! that was a bit of your
foolish pride," said the young mentor,
shaking his head. *' Morris meant kindly,
and you were wrong not to accept it.
But let us know what a new organ would
cost."

"Pive pounds, Seppi says."

" Ah ! we shall never get that, so we
must give up the idea. But come, it is
breakfast-time now. I think your Seppi
might stay here till afternoon, and mean-
while some plan may come into our
a 81

A PLAN AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

heads. ' When there's a will there's a
way.

This was one of Archy's wise saws,
which he constantly brought out, and, to
his credit be it said, as constantly acted
upon. In the present case he was not
long before he proved the truth of the
axiom.

" Cola, I've a thought," said he, when
the boys were taking their formal noon-
day stroll, under the Doctor's guidance,
a sway so easy that it allowed a fine op-
portunity for conversation, to each couple
which filed before him. " Cola, Pve a
thought.''

"What about?"

" Your little Italian, of course. Look
here ; we'll go to business in a systematic
manner. AVe want money, which neither
of us have got ; the question is how to
get it. I cannot help thinking that those
little drawings which you are always
spending your time over, would please the
farmers' wives about here, and perhaps

A PLAN AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

some people vrould give a shilling or so
for two or three of them. Now you
cannot go up and down the country sell-
ing them, but Seppi could ; and, perhaps,
in time, lie miglit get enough money to
buy another organ."

"Archy, Archy, how clever you are!"
cried Cola, in delight.

" Not at all ', only when a fellow has
a talent — which I think you have in this
sketching fancy of yours, I like to find
out to what use it can be put, and make
the most of it."

"Oh! this is charming; I have plenty
of heads and figures already done. There
is Quintus Curtius leaping in the gulf,
and Romulus with the wolf, and King-
John signing Magna Charta, and your
own Mary Queen of Scots — "

" Stop a minute," said McKaye, laugh-
ing. " We must arrange our plans a
little more systematically. These sort of
sketches will hardly do for farmers' wives,
who never heard of Romulus or Quintus

a 3 83

A PLAN AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

Curtius in their lives. No ! I think if
you did a few pretty heads of babies, and
coloured them with red cheeks and golden
hair, or drew an old woman feeeding
chickens, or the doctor's chesnut horse,
these would be much more likely to
attract the kind of purchasers we want to
please."

Poor Cola looked rather crestfallen ;
this was by no means his taste in Art,
but he saAV the good sense which dictated
Archibald's advice, and was soon persuaded
that he was right.

'* Then there is another thing that we
must consider," went on McKaye, '' the
drawings will want frames. We cannot
buy them, therefore we must make them.
I can cut all sorts of toys in wood, and
I don't see why I could not make a pic-
ture-frame. At all events there is nothing
like trying, and I'll try to-day."

" Excellent ! excellent ! How thought-
ful you are, Archy ! And, I dare say, the
carpenter at the lane-end would give you

84.

A PLAN, AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

a few pieces of wood, because you cured
his lame dog, you know."

"Very likely he might. And then,
Cola, by this plan you would see your
little countryman every now and then,
when he came to fetch more drawings,
and you might have a talk with him
about Rome, and all that sort of
thing."

No one knew what a kind heart lay
hid under the quiet exterior of the re.
served Scottish boy; no one but Cola
Monti.

The plan was tried, and it succeeded.
A few sketches, such as Archibald thought
most likely to please, were soon done by
Cola in his best style. Mc Kaye's skil-
ful hand made very respectable wooden
frames; and little Seppi, being properly
instructed, set off on his expedition. He
had another means of getting on too;
he could sing a few of his native ditties,
for music seems to come instinctively to
the Italians. Many an English mother,

85 H

A PLAN, AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

who bought one of his pretty pictures
to hang over the fire-place in the best
room, gave the little foreigner his din-
ner or his breakfast, for the sake of his
merry song.

Thus for many months this project went
on successfully. Seppi travelled far and
wide, and carried on quite a flourishing
trade with the fruits of Cola's skill. Some-
times, he even got as much as half a crown
for one sketch; and as he always brought to
Cola's keeping every farthing that he did
not want, there soon mounted up a little
sum. But Seppi did not now wish to buy
an organ ; he could not have borne to lose
sight of his young countryman, for whom
he had conceived the strongest attachment ;
so the trade of the little wandering picture-
dealer still went on.

Cola, encouraged by success, exerted his
utmost efforts to improve. His drawings
became more correct and finished; and,
from a mere amusement, his pencil grev»^
his chief occupation when not engaged

A PLAN, AND HOW IT SUCCEEDED.

in lessons. Every book that he could
light upon, connected with Art, was in-
deed a treasure ; and by daily study of
nature, he was gradually fonning himself
for his future destiny, before he was yet
out of boyhood.

CHAPTER IX.

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

As one half-year passed after another,
Cola Monti grew to be a tall, clever youth.
Gradually, the school changed, and new-
faces were seen, filling the places of the
old ones. Morris Woodhouse went to
college, and Doctor Birch talked with great
pride of his favourite pupil's success.
Archibald McKaye had steadily worked
through his schooldays, and had left for a
merchant's office in London. But, as he
said to Cola when they parted, ''A man
must work at something, or other, all his
life through ; and the sooner he makes up
his mind to it the better."

Cola himself began to have many anxious

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

thoughts about his future ; for there was
210 hint of his leaving school, and he had
only seen his mother once, or twice. Often
^ind often, when Archibald talked of his
own happy home, did the lonely boy feel
his heart ready to break, for he had no one
to love him or care for him, except the
poor Italian boy, to whom he had been so
kind.

He still kept up the practice of hi^
beloved Art; and sometimes, during the
long holidays, which he spent at school
alone, vague dreams of being a painter one
day, made him feel happy for the time, and
less down-hearted as to the future.

When Cola was seventeen, his mother
died. Then her husband refused any long-
er to defray the expenses of his step-son's
education ; and young Monti was in fact
turned upon the world, quite destitute.
Doctor Birch's kindness, however, inter-
fered ; he proposed that Cola should still
stay with him, as a sort of usher, to teach.
It was a life strongly opposed to the youth's

89 h2

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

own fancv, for Cola had not the steadiness
and above all the patience, necessary for a
teacher. But he fully appreciated the
kindness of his old master, and bravely set
to work to do his best.

His best was by no means wonderful,
for his heart was not in it ; and moreover
his daily duties engrossed his time so much,
that the drawing and painting languished.
Still Cola persevered, for he remembered
his fiiend Archibald's saying, "that every
man must work," and many men, too, at
duties they did not like. Mc Kaye's boyish
friendship had not diminished, and when
his letters came occasionally, telling of a
close London office, and a room in the attic
of a London house, looking down upon a
noisy street. Cola breathed the fresh coun-
try air, and thought that, after all, his lot
was not so -hard as Archy's.

Nevertheless, when Seppi came to see his
"young master," as he persisted in calling
Cola, he was grieved to notice how pale and
melancholy that dear master looked. Seppi

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

had good news to tell, having sold all the
pictures, and brought back a handful of
silver to be put in the treasure-box. Cola's
heavy eyes hardly brightened even at the
success.

" But I have something else to tell to il
Signer carrissimo^ — the dearest niaster,'*^
continued the Italian. " I met one day in
the fields an odd-looking gentleman, who
was making drawings, like you ; — only they
were not half so pretty," said Seppi in an
affectionate parenthesis, which made Cola
smile.

" Well, what of that ? I suppose he was
an artist."

"Very likely, Signor ; but he spoke to
me in Italian, and a noble gentleman I soon
found him to be, though he was an English-
man. I showed him the pictures, and he
praised them very much."

"Did he, did he ?" cried Cola, his face
lighting up with pleasure.

"Yes, indeed, and he asked me who
painted them ; for whoever it was, he would

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

become a great artist in time. You see,
Sighor, I remember his very words to tell
YOU afterwards. And then seeing him so
kind, I told him all about you, and how
good you had been to me ; and he tore off
a leaf from his book, and wrote this, which
he desired me to give to you."

Cola seized the letter, which ran thus —
" I know nothing of you, sir, except what
the boy Giuseppe Fontana has told me ; but
if you are the artist who painted the water-
colour sketches I have just seen, I would
advise -you to come to London, if you can,
and study regularly the noblest profession
under the sun. T will, if I find you worthy,
do all in my poor influence to advance you.
My name and address are — "

It was the name of a first-rate artist,
whose fame had reached even to the obscure
village, which had so long been Cola's only

home. The vouth's heart beat with the

•I

wildest joy.

•' To go to London ; to be an artist ! oh,
how happy it would be!" cried he. But

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

immediately Lis couutenance fell, for La
remembered tLat Le.Lad.no moiiGy, and it
was utterly impossible for Lim evcu to get
to tLe metropolis witLout being dependent
on cLarity. TLe letter fell from Lis Land^
and Le sat down disconsolate.

TLe Italian boy crept to Lim. " Will
tLe Signor tell poor Seppi wLat tLere was in
tLe gentleman's note to make Lim look so
Lappy for a minute and tLen so sad ? "

Cola told Lim.

' And wLy sLould not tLe Signor go to
London and be a great artist ?"

"AL, Seppi, you do not understand tLese
tLings. It would take money, a great deal
too, and I Lave none at all." Cola covered
Lis face witL Lis Lands, and felt tLat it
would Lave been a relief to cry, were Le not
asLamed to be so little of a man.

Seppi w^ent to tLe money-box ; it was one
of ArcLy's Landiwork, witL a little slit at
tLe top, just large enougL to pusli in sLillings
and Lalf-crowns. To tLis receptacle, montb
after montL, Lad been committed tLe small

SCIIOOL-DAYS OVER.

savings which Seppi did not want, and
which Archibald prudently advised should he
kept for him " against a rainy day." The
boy seemed now determined to get at his
property, for he took his knife and cut the
slit into a large round hole, through which
the treasure within poured in a silver stream.
Seppi showed his white glistening teeth in a
smile the broadest ever known, and his
black eyes seemed dancing in his head, as
he filled his cap with the silver coins, and
laid it beside Cola on the table. "See,
the Signer has plenty of money, and he can
go to London as soon as he likes."

" Oh, Seppi ! but it is not mine. I meant
it for you."

Cola was long proof against the earnest
entreaties of his humble friend, that he
would take his money, the fruit of his own
handiwork. At last he saw that Seppi was
becoming deeply pained by his refusal, and
Archibald's often-used arofument against
fiilse pride rose to his memory. On the
other hand, all the pleasure and success of a

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER.

life which liad been his highest ambition
seemed spread out before him, — while to let
the kind offer of the artist (whom we shall
entitle Mr. Crome,) remain unnoticed, ap-
peared almost folly. Cola could not give
up all for a mere scruple of pride at
receiving a favour from an inferior, whose
greatest pleasure it was to bestow it. He
took the boy's rough hand in his.

'* Seppi, my good Seppi, you shall lend
me the money, since you are so kind, and
we will go to London together."

And so they did, as master and man, and
not so utterly unprovided either, for the
good Doctor Birch, when he heard the story
and read the artist's letter, not only advised
his young usher to go, but was fully im-
pressed with the idea, which had only lately
unfolded itself to his mind, that his late
pupil might become a great man some day.
Partly out of this fancy, but chiefly from
real kindness, the doctor actually took a
number of Cola's sketches, and added to his

SCHOOL-DAYS OVER

stock anotlier ten pounds to lielp liim on
when lie got to London.

So the two set out on tlieir journey^
bravely and hopefully. And they were
right ; for the grand secret of success is a
determination to let nothing thwart us in
striving for it. Cola certainly had not any
Whittington-like notions of London streets
being paved with gold, and did not expect
to find there a fortune ready made ; but he
argued, sensibly enough, that surely he
could work in town as he had done in the
country, only with ten times more advan-
tages. As for little Seppi, he thought, in
his simplicity, that if the worst came to the;
worst, he could take to organ-playing again
for himself and his dear Signor.

CHAPTER X.

BEGINNING THE WOULD*

It was five years since Cola had been iu a
large town of any kind. London lie liad
never seen in his life. He iinconsciousl}''
looked forward to it, in that sort of myste-
rious curiosity with which country people
always regard the unknown metropolis, as
a grand place, very delightful, aud rather
wicked. Something too was added by the
quick southern imagination of the youth,
and his faint childish memories of Rome,
the only city he ever knew. — Rome, with
her stately palaces and gorgeous churches,
the queenly capital of the South, seated on
her seven hills.

Thoughts like these passed through the

97 I

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

boy's mind, when he found hims^.lf whirled
through the midland counties in a second-
class railway-carriage, for that was the very
unromantic way in w^hich the new asnirant
for fame went to London to seek his fortune.
Seppi sat with him, but the little organ-boy
treated his young master with the most
deferential respect, and never spoke, unless
he w^as addressed first. At the commence-
ment of their journey, Cola had talked to
him a great deal in their native language,
much to the astonishment and suspicion of
a cross-looking old lady opposite, who
wondered what strange fellow-passengers
she had got, and how a nice respectable
young gentleman should be on such friendly
terms with a shabby little Italian boy. She
kept glancing angrily at Seppi, and Seppi
returned the compliment, even though he
did feel rather shy and uncomfortable in hi^
new position. So there was a petty warfare
maintained between them during great part
of the journey ; and peace seemed further
off than ever, when the old ]ady, who sat in

BEGINNING TEE WORLD.

the sheltered back-seat, persisted in having
the window open, though the chilly air of a
thorough wet day pierced to the very bones
of the poor little thinly-clad foreigner
opposite.

" Change seats with me, Seppi ; I'm older
and stronger than you," cried his good-
natured master, after a vain expostulation
with their cross neighbour.

But it was not likely that Seppi could
consent to anything of the sort ; he would
have sat to be frozen to death, rather than
even suffer his dear Signor's hands to get
chilly. So he protested that he did not feel
at all cold; and meanwhile his poor little
nose grew bluer and bluer, and the rain beat
in, and hung in large drops on his thin
jacket, until his cheerful face began to
lengthen considerably, and his master grew
thoroughly miserable. This was rather a
gloomy commencement of their adventures,
and it made Cola feel that if independence
has its pleasures, it has also its lespon-'
sibilities.

BEGINNING THE WOULD.

" Seppi, how I wish we had a cloak or a
rug of some kind! what a pity we never
thought of buying one!" was his uncom-
fortable reflection.

"We could not buy everything, — that
is, the Signor could not, with the little
money he had ; and if he is not cold, why
Seppi is quite satisfied,'' was the organ-boy's
answer, as he rolled himself up in a corner,
and showed his white teeth, with an ap-
parently contented smile, though, poor
fellow, they were chattering in his head all
the while.

Cola Monti then experienced, for the fir&t
time since he had begun to think and feel —
not as a boy, but as a man — how bitter it
is to be poor. The next minute he learned
how much bitterer it is to be proud as well.
Following Seppi's eyes, he saw them rest
wistfully on a rug that lay beside him, the
property of a great bluff farmer, who dozed
awav at the further end of the carriao^e : he
determined to beg the loan of it, the very
next time the farmer opened his eyes. But

100

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

ere then pride whispered in the youth's ear,
"' Do n't, Cola Monti ! It is demeaning
yourself. Remember how gruffly the fellow
answered you, when you made a civil remark
on starting ; think how he muttered some-
thing about these vagabonds 'o' furriners/
Do n't trouble yourself to ask anything of
him."

Cola hesitated, looked at his poor shiv-
ering companion, and then, to use an ex-
pressive phrase, "put his pride in his pocket."
He had to button it up close, though, or it
would have crept out again. At the next
station the farmer woke up.

" Sir," said Cola, turning very red, and
speaking hastily, "if you don't want that
nice warm railway-rug, would you have any
objection to lend it?"

"Take it — choke theeself in it, only
dunna bother me," grumbled the farmer,
turning round again for another nap.

^' Thank you, sir, but I don't want it
for myself; 'tis for this poor little fellow
here; — he is so cold !'*

101 vf

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

" Eh, what, him there ? noa, noa , youVe
welcome to it yerseP, young feller, for you
looks like a gentleman, though you are a
furriner, but I canna give it that dirty
little beggar."

"He is not dirty, and he's no more a
beggar than yourself," was the indignant
reply that rose to Cola's lips. But he
swallowed his wrath : Archy had taught
him that lesson. " I beg your pardon, sir,
but you are mistaken," he said, as quietly
as he could. " Take the trouble to look at
him, and you will see that, though his
clothes are poor, they are quite clean ; and
he is no beggar, he is my little servant."

'^And pray, young sir," asked the farmer,
now thoroughly awakened, and rather
amused than otherwise at the spirit of the
boy, "pray what may you be yersel'?"

"Just what you said— a gentleman,"
was the somewhat lofty answer.

" Ha, ha, ha ! Ho, ho, ho ! T\Tiat a deal
of pluck he has!" cried Cola's fellow-
traveller, bursting into the uproarious laugh

102

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

whicli seems peculiar to Englisli farmers.
" Dunna be savage, my fine feller/' lie added,
seeing the youth's brow darken. "No
offence, no offence ; ye may tak' t' blanket
and welcome, for that gTand footman o'
yourn ; only mind he do n't steal it, that's
all. Ha, ha!" And he very unceremo-
niously threw the disputed article over the
carriage to Cola, who felt strongly inclined
to throw it back again in his face. But
the impulse was resisted, and next moment
poor shivering Seppi rejoiced in the warm
covering.

The cross old lady wondered how somo
people could be imposed upon by the braz-
en faces of some other people ; " but that
was always the way in which these foreigners
coaxed John Bull out of everything."

"I tell'ee what, ma'am," said the farmer^
whose generosity was roused by opposition^
'' a French chap feels cold just as much as
an Englisher, 'specially if he be a little 'un.
If you 've ever a little Jacky or Billy o'yer
own at whome, (which I dunna think is the

103

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

case, or you'd not be so cross-grained,)"
this was said in a half-audible aside, "ye
wunna grumble at my doin' a good turn to
this here lad. Come, young 'un/' con-
tinued he, roused still more by the old
lady's contemptuous toss of the head, " takV
a drop o'sommat to keep thee warm."

And he produced a bottle for Seppi's
benefit, who, faint, tired, and cold, took a
few sips, and then made drowsy by the dose,
and also by the motion of the carriage, fell
comfortably asleep in the corner. His burly
protector soon did the same, and Cola was
left to his own meditations.

He did not feel quite so hopeful as he
had done a few hours before, when crossing
fifteen miles of open country, which lay be-
tween Doctor Birch's house and the nearest
railway-station, in that worthy pedagogue's
own chaise. Then it was a lovely fine
morning; but it had changed, as June
mornings will do, into a wet cheerless day,
almost like winter. This, perhaps, had no
slight effect on Cola's mind, for in common

104

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

witU all sensitive temperaments, he was
very susceptible to the influence of weather.
And, besides, as the first excitement of the
journey passed away, and a weariness crept
over him, he began to feel the natural
sensations of one who has for five years,
night after night, gone to sleep under the
same roof, and noAV wanders from it, quite
uncertain where he shall this evening take
his rest. The vague project — "seeking
one's fortune in London" — resolved itself
into small realities, not quite so pleasant,
and for the moment he almost wished him-
self back in the Doctor's school-room, hearing
his class drone over their eternal io sono^
tu seiy egli ^,

But such a brave spirit as Cola's coul(^
not long think thus. Soon he drove aw\ay
all disappointment and determined to be
happy. Many a man has become mode-
rately content from this very resolve. Try
• it, my young friends, when you are inclined
to despond; set resolutely before you all
the good fortune that your condition afi'ords,

105

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

and in most cases you will find that if it
does not outweigh, it at least equals the
bad.

Cola did so. If on this miseratle wet
day he was going to London, a lad only
seventeen, an orphan, having in that great
city but two friends, one of whom he had
never seen — still, on the other hand, he was
young, healthy, had had a good education,
and was acknowledged to possess talent in
his beloved Art : there was his faithful
little servant to watch over his comforts
and cheer him in every way; and in his
pocket lay twenty pounds and the letter of
Mr. Crome. Things were not looking so
very black, after all.

Besides, every mile — no every twenty
miles, for in the lightning-railway one only
counts by scores — ^brought him nearer to
the welcome of Archibald M^'Kaye. Cola
had not told his friend of this proposed
journey, intending to surprise him with the
meeting ; and perhaps withheld partly from
a slight doubt whether the ultra-prudent.

106

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

Archy would not consider the expedition
rather a wild-goose chase, and therefore
expostulate a little.

" But when I am really there, he will be
so glad to see me! yes, I Imowhewill!"
mused Cola; " and then I can talk so much
better than I can write, and explain all.
He does not know much about Art, or care
much for it ; but he is a dear, good, sensible
fellow, is Archy J\PKaye. How glad I am
he lives in London!"

And in anticipating over this meetings
and the somewhat more formidable one with
the great unseen artist. Cola found the
train had reached Harrow, which he knew
was not far from their journey's end. He
felt a feverish excitement, and could not
help peering restlessly out of the carriage
window. It was close down now, thanks to
the burly farmer's interference. The drizzly
misty evening only revealed the straggling
outskirts which lie between Willesden and
Euston-square. There could hardly be a
less imposing entrance into the city: it

107

BEGINNINa THE WORLD.

seems like creeping into London the back
way. Cola distinguished small lialf-built
streets, work-slieds, brickfields, here and
there a garden, until gradually the houses
became thicker ; and though no city could
be seen in the distance, there rose up the
cloud of smoke and fog which perpetually
overhangs the great metropolis.

'' Tell me, Seppi, for you have been here
before, tell me, is that London?'' cried
Cola to his young companion, who now,
refreshed by his long sleep, began to rub
his eyes and look about him.

"Si, Signor, yes, master, it is indeed,"
answered the little Italian. "Is it like
what the Signor expected?" — Seppi always
addressed Cola in the third person, the
customary Italian form of showing respect
to a superior.

"Not quite."

"I knew it, I knew it: a smoky, dis-
agreeable, ugly city, is this Londra^ and
not at all so fine as bella Roma.'" Then
recollecting himself, Seppi added, "But I

108

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

will not speak ill of it, if il Signorino mio
makes liis fortune there, as indeed lie is
sure to do ; and tken, perliaps, wlien lie is a
great artist, lie will take poor Seppi wdtk
him to see hella JRoma once more."

" We will never be parted ; you shall go
with me wherever I go, my dear little
friend," cried Seppi's master affectionately ;
and then the simultaneous rousing of their
sleepy fellow-passengers, and the call out-
side for "Tickets ready, gentlemen," be-
tokened that they had come to their
journey's end. Soon the train stopped:
out jumped the burly farmer, having ac-
knowledged the thankfully restored rug
with a careless nod, though he made no
allusion to stealing it now. Out scrambled
the cross old lady, after hunting under both
seats for various small packages, and voci-
ferously accusing Seppi of having sat down
upon a bandbox, which had been under her
own feet the whole time. At last Cola and
his protege alighted also, and found thenv-
selves on the platform in Euston-squarc.

109 K

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

There was little doubt of their being in
London now. Such a confusion! — Omni-
buses rattling, cabmen shouting, porters
jostling to and fro, clamorous passengers
hunting for luggage in every possible place
but the right one, and finding every one's
property except their own. No wonder the
scene bewildered our two young foreigners,
for even Cola knew English manners and
customs only through the medium of Doctor
Birch's academy. He and Seppi stood
together beside their small box, like two
lost sheep in the crowd. Attacked on every
side by inquiries concerning omnibuses,
cabs, and porters. Cola only shook his
head; he really could not tell where to go
or what to do. He wished he had WTitten
for Archy to meet them, but v/ishing was
useless now.

At length his shoulder was brushed by
the stout farmer.

"What, my young furrineering gentle-
man, not gone yet? you'll be turned out

directly to mak' ready for another train,
no

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

No stopping and wondering in a place like
Lon'on, I reckon."

Cola looked very disconsolate, and Seppi
too.

" Wliat's t' matter ? liast got na money?"
asked the blunt but good-natured farmer.

Cola's cheek crimsoned: "Of course I
have, sir! but it is late, and I do n't know
where to go for the night; I never was in
London before. Is there any inn to which
you can direct me?" asked he, with a
rather dignified air, for he remembered he
was seventeen, and it was necessary to put
off the boy and assume the man.

^' Direct 'ee lad ? Oh, aye, to some
hundreds, where they'll fleece thee in a
pretty fashion. ^Yliat made thy feyther
send thee to Lon'on all by thyself? I
would n't ha' done it by my Dick ! "

Tears started to Cola's eyes. '''Nov

would my dear father, if he were alive,"

he murmured.

" What ! that 's it, is it ? Poor lad, I 'm
111

BEGINNING THE WORLD,

sorry for thee ! " said tlie other, with com-
passionate interest in his great rough face.
'' Gie us thy hand, I '11 tak' thee where thee
can stop the night; ay, and that young
Flibbertigibbet too," he added, seeing Cola
looked hesitatingly towards his little ser-
vant. " I 'am not afeard of either o' yees
stealing anything now. Come along."

And in a few minutes more, the young
adventurers were hoisted on the top of an
omnibus, beside their new acquaintance,
who took them to an inn near Mark-lane,
where he invariably put up. Unaccustomed
to travelling as both boys were, they felt
heartily glad to eat their bread and cheese
supper, and then escape from the noisy,
crowd of farmers to a small attic ; too tired
to do anything but go to sleep. Cola crept
into the little bed ; w^hile Seppi, unused to
more luxurious habits, gathered himself up
in a ball, something like a young hedgehog,
and lay down at his master's feet. Both
were soon asleep — to use a favourite ex-

112

At-tT 1 V ai "i n I i o n rlo n .

BEGINNING THE WORLD.

pression at Doctor Bircli's — "as sound as
a top."

This was Cola Monti's first nigbt in
London

11? Ka

CHAPTEP XL

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

Cola woke the next morning, dreaming
that he was at school again, and that some-
how or other his class was all composed of
great stout farmers, who w^ould persist in
repeating their Italian verbs with a strong
Staffordshire accent. The dream vanished
under the influence of a bright sunbeam
that crept through the small uncurtained
window, and just reached his nose. In
London, the good-natured sun is more
partial to attic windows than to any other,
and it made Cola's tiny room quite cheerful.
From thence he looked, not at the street,
which lay many feet below, but skywards,
where, above the tops of the houses, he

114

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

could see the great dome of St. Paul's
lifting itself up, grand and giant-like, with
its ball and cross glistening in the clear
light of early morning.

This was the first sight that struck Cola
in London. His artist-eye appreciated it
to the uttermost. The numberless streets
below seemed so solemn and quiet, lying in
the shadow of the scarcely risen sun ; and
though even now the sounds of life were
beginning to stir, they were but faint as
yet, while over the dark and half-awakened
city watched its gTeat temple, already illu-
minated with the sunbeams. It was a
scene that Cola never forgot, and never
will while he lives.

He stood several minutes at the window,
and then crept quietly to bed again, for it
was too early to rise, and he did not w^ant
to disturb the heavy slumbers of poor tired
Seppi. But he himself could not go to
sleep again ; his heart was too full. He lay
thinking many deep and serious thoughts,
such as perhaps would never come into the

115

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

head of a youth of seventeen, unless placed
in Cola's situation.

My dear boy-readers, you who have a
father to guide you, a mother to love you,
and perhaps many other family ties to
make you a pleasant home, I dare say you
think it would be a fine thing to find your-
self in such an independent position, with
no one to restrain or command you — ready
for any adventure. Would not you like it
very much, instead of being under the rule
of tutors abroad, or when at home obliged
to submit to " the governor ? " And yet, if
you once tried the experiment, I doubt if
you would not soon find out, as Cola did,
that it is a desolate thing to be one*s own
master.

Cola had a vai^ue notion that livinof at
inns was expensive, and that even twenty
pounds would not hold out for ever. He
thought he ought to try to get settled some-
where that very day, even before he allowed
himself to go and see Mr. Crome. Perhaps
he also wished to delay this momentous

116

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT

visit, which, delicious in the distance, grew
formidable as the time drew near. But
how, in this wide London, was he to set
about finding a temporary home ?

" I wish I knew where to go, or that I
had somebody to advise me," he sighed.
And then he thought of sensible, friendly
Archy M^Kaye. "That's it!'' cried the
boy, jumping out of bed ; " the best thing I
can do is to go to Archy."

He dressed himself with a light heart,
and then woke Seppi. They both soon
descended, and after losing tbeir w^ay once
or twice in the large old rambling inn, sat
down in the commercial room and break-
fasted. Then Cola, taking upon himself all
the responsibilities of his position, called
for the bill; but the kind-hearted farmer
had paid it an hour before, — and disap-
peared— without word or message.

"I'll never judge people by their outside
appearance again," thought Cola, repentantly.
*'And if ever I catch myself indulging in

117

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

foolish pride, I'll smother myself — or it^
which will perhaps be the best plan."

So, having begun the day with these two
excellent resolutions, and left his box at
the inn, not without a hope that when he
came to fetch it, he might light upon the
good farmer, and have an opportunity of
paying the warm thanks he owed, Cola set
out for the office w^here Archy spent his
time from nine till five every day. Seppi,
who followed his master like his very
shadow, was not left behind ; and indeed
young Monti could not have threaded his
way through the strange, bustling, bewil-
dering city streets, but for the guidance of
his little servant.

" And is this where you used to go about
playing your organ, Seppi ? I wonder the
noise did not drive you crazy," said Cola,
as they passed the Bank, and entered
Cheapside, which seemed insuff*erably close
to the country boy. ''Oh! what a disa-
greeable place London is ! at least this end

118

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

of it. How did you manage to breathe
here, iny poor little fellow ? "

" It was much worse where I lived,"
answered Seppi, with a shudder. ''The
Signer has not seen St. Giles's : ah ! the
horrible place ! And that cruel master,
who sent us out every morning with our
organs — we, poor lads ! — and thrashed us
and starved us at night, if w^e did not bring
back money enough. What a miserable
life it was ! But the noble generous Signer
took me out of it, and I wall bless him every
day until I die," gratefully murmured the
little Italian in his own language, which
indeed he generally spoke ; only we put his
conversation in English, lest our readers
might require an interlinear translation.

So talking, master and man came to
Bread-street, Cheapside, where ^PKaye's
address was.

"M^Bean, M^CuUoch, and M^Gillivray,
all Macs," said Cola, laughing, as he read
the name on the door. "We're right, I

119

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

tnow; Archy's countrymen always liold
together."

He entered a little dark oflBce, on the
ground-floor of what seemed an immense
warehouse. There was no one there, hut a
dry, dusty-looking old man, perched behind
a high desk. Cola went boldly up to him,
and asked to see Archibald M'^Kaye.

*'Is it the new laddie ye 're speering for?
Ye 're a freend o'his, may be," was the
answer, in Scotch so broad, that, accustomed
as he was to Archy's northern speech. Cola
could hardly make it out. And the cautious
questioner eyed him over from head to foot,
apparently thinking such a tall, handsome,
gentlemanly youth rather a novel customer
in Bread-street.

" I want to see Mr. Archibald M'^Kaye,'^
persisted Cola ; " can you tell me where
he is?"

"I dinna just ken, and I canna waste
precious time in hunting out our office
laddies. Ye '11 find him somewhere up

120

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

there ; " and the old clerk lifted one thumb
in the direction of the ceiling, and buried
his spectacled nose again in his large
ledger.

The quick-tempered Italian felt half
vexed, but he turned to ascend the mouldv
old staircase ; Seppi still followed. At the
top of the first flight he saw, in the dim
light — it never seemed to be clear day-light
at Bread-street — a figure buried among a
heap of rolls of carpets. He repeated the
inquiry for Archy JPKaye.

The individual addressed, cleared at a
bound a score of carpets, and stood before
him.

" Why, Cola Monti, what in the name of
fortune brought you here?'' reached the
boy's ear in the most gleeful tones of
Archy's very own voice, otherwise Cola
would never have believed that it was
really his old friend.

M^'Kaye certainly looked a queer figure.
He had grown taller than ever — quite a
man indeed ; but he was very thin, and his

121 L

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

clear fresh complexion liad become pale and
sodden. He was without his coat, and all
covered with the dust and dirt of this — a
wholesale carpet warehouse. At another
time Cola would have laughod heartily at
the odd appearance of his old schoolmate,
but now his affectionate heart could only-
prompt the warm hand-grasp, and the
cry—

" Archy, dear Archy, is it really you? "

'' Why, I suppose it is, though I do n't
look much like myself, you mean,'' said
M^'Kaye, perhaps rather annoyed for the
moment at being found in such a trim;
" but you know, my good fellow, I 'm a
man of business now. Everybody works
here. I'm not a bit ashamed of myself,"
said he resolutely, as he knocked the dust
off his clothes.

"Indeed you need not; I am only too
glad to see you anyhow, and anywhere,"
Cola joyfully cried.

"To be sure; so ami. Now, Cola sit
down here," and he hauled a roll from the

122

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

heap, " and tell me what on earth you have
•come to London for."

The explanation was given as shortly
and lucidly as possible. Archy looked
wondering — doubtful; but except an un-
conscious "Hem!" once or twice, he said
nothing to discourage his friend's bright
hopes; he was too kind-hearted. And
besides, he felt keenly how pleasant it was
to look on a familiar face in this wide
desert of London. But ere Cola's story
was quite ended, there was a loud call
above for " M^Kaye."

"Business before pleasure ! I can't stay
with you longer, Cola," said he, rising
hastily. "Come and sec me to-night at
home — that is, where I lodge; I don't call
it home. Mind you come ! but I forgot, —
you ^Ylll never know your way." And he
proceeded to give minute directions for
findino' a certain street in Islinoton.

" Oh, Seppi will make it out," answered
Cola.

"What, my old friend Seppi! you hav'n't

123

AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

"brought liim with you? Come out, my
little fellow, and let us have a look at your
"brown face!" cried Archy, dragging the
Italian from the dark corner where he had
submissively kept aloof.

" Seppi very glad to see English Signer ;
poor Seppi never forget kind Signer Inglcse^'^
stammered the organ-boy, pulling his black
curly forelock, in acknowledgment of the
recognition.

"Thank you, little Seppi; only you make
•a slight mistake as to the country : I do n't
think I am any more of an Englishman for
living in London," said Archy, proudly
enough to satisfy even the heart of the
old father at Aberdeen, who had sacrificed
•so many time-honoured family prejudices,
before his own good sense and that of his
'excellent boy triumphed at last, and the
•descendant of no one knows how many
great ^PKayes became clerk in a merchant's
-warehouse.

They went down the dark creaking stair-
<5ase: "I dare say you think this a df

124

/iN OLD PRTEND IN A NEW LIGHT.

miserable place, Cola; and yet 'tis a great
firm, this of ours : every mercliant in London
knows our three Macs. Their word or boni
is as good as the Bank of England. But
you do n't understand commerce."

"Not quite," was the smiling answer.
"Well, Archy, I suppose, some of these days,
you will be a great merchant too.'^

" I will try. It is a grand thing to he
rich ; that is, when one makes a good use of
it, — our family is so large, and we have

always been so awfully poor, that Yes !

I'll work night and day hut I'll he a great
merchant some time/' And as ^PKaye
spoke, there was in his quiet resolute tone
and firmly set lip an earnest of that strong
patient energy w^hich, soon or late, always
carries out its end.

Yet, as Cola made his way up the close
dingy street, and thought of the little hack
office, the ledger, and the carpets, his mind,
cast in a totally different mould, revolted
from the idea of a lifetime, a whole precious
lifetir£e, spent in such scenes.

125 l3

AN OLD FRIEND XN A NEW LIGHT.

*' Archy may be riglit ; lie always is," said
the young Itakan to himself; "but! would
rather be an artist, after all/'

CfFWPTKR. J.

HELP IN SEASON.

Monti, — ^we ought to give him his sur-
name occasionally, as he is growing a man
now, — had a whole day before him, with
nothing to do. This w^as very irksome, for
his morning s reflections had wound him up
to such a high pitch of enthusiastic energy, —
and Cola's energy was generally two-thirds
composed of impulse, which must begin at
once to expend itself. He found it really
hard to have to wander idly about London
for the space of six hours ; more especially
as mere outward sight-seeing was not his
element. An inveterate sight-seer is
generally a man all eyes and no brains.

Cola bethought himself of a place, which

127

HELP IN SEASON.

to him contained all the riches of London —
the National Gallery. Thither he went,
still followed by his ever-faithful attendant.
And it is but just to say, that while many
a fine young gentleman would have felt
considerably annoyed at having to walk
through London streets, accompanied by
the poor little Italian, in his clean, but
shabby suit of velveteen, Cola Monti never
experienced the slightest mortification on
this head. He was at once too humble and
too proud.

I shall not enlarge upon the feelings of
the boy-artist, when he beheld for the first
time this grand collection of paintings. He
had seen many in his childhood; but the
memory of them was growing dim. He
looked on these with the sensations of one
blind, who re-enters a long-forgotten world
with his eyes opened. He began to un-
derstand and to feel what Art really was.
This new sense dazzled and overwhelmed
him; his heart beat wildly, he trembled,

and, fairly subdued with emotion, he sat
us

HELP IN SEASON.

down in the darkest corner lie could find,
turned his face away into the shadow, while
the tears rose, large and silently, to the
long lashes, and dropped on the arm which
he raised to hide them.

^NTow, my dear readers, I dare say nine
out of ten of you think Cola Monti a very
foolish fellow — a girl, a ''cry-haby," &c. &c.
The reason is, you do n't understand him
you nine excellent fellows, who will, I
trust, grow up respectable members of
society. But the tenth of you may be
what Cola was — a genius. The boy's feeling
was perfectly sincere and true to nature;
that is, to the nature of genius. But fully
to comprehend the workings of a mind like
his, requires one of similar character and
power. If you are disposed to laugh at
him, or any one like him, think that
possibly the fault may be with your own.
selves. And even taking the contrary argu-
ment, remember that the wise man, while
condemning, pities ; ii is the fool only who
scoffs.

120

HELP IN SEASON.

Cola was roused by a whisper from
Seppi. —

" Signor mio carissimo, look there, at
that little old gentleman! it is the very
artist whom I saw, who wrote the letter.
Speak to him ; he has not seen me, but he
has been looking at the Signor for a long
time."

And indeed he had. Cola felt that this
very minute the keen but kindly gray eyes
were reading him through and through.
He grew hot and cold; he could hardly
breathe. At last, with a desperate courage
he went up to the artist, and spoke as he
never would have spoken but for the excite-
ment of the last ten minutes.

" Sir," Mr. Crome, forgive me if I am too
bold, but you are a great artist, and I would
give everything in this world to become
one. Did you really mean what you told
ine in this letter ? "

The old painter looked at the paper,
recognised it with a smile, but with no
•outward manifestation of surprise, for he

130

HELP IN SEASON.

was a gentleman of sedate, polished man-
ners ; a court artist. Then he glanced ct
the youth, noticed the quivering lip, the
kindling eye, put his hand out cordially,
but still composedly, and said,

"Yes, my young friend, I really did.
Are you come to London to prove the truth
of both my offer and my prophecy ? "^

Cola could scarcely murmur a few in-
articulate thanks.

" Well, young gentleman," said the con-
siderate painter, "wait here half-an-hour^
and I will come and have some talk with
you." And he moved away with a footstep
as silken soft as his voice and smile. It
really gave him pleasure to find the youth
whose beautiful features and intellectual
head had attracted his artist-eye, was the
same unknown draughtsman whose pro-
ductions had struck him during his country
tour.

Mr. Crome was no enthusiastic philan-
thropist, only a kind-hearted sensible man.
He had not the slightest intention of per-

131

HELP IN SEASON.

fonning any grand feat of generosity towards
Cola, such as adopting or instructing him.
He had almost forgotten the letter, written
under an impulse of good-natured appre-
ciation ; but when it was again brought to
his memory, he determined to keep his
promise, and give the young artist all the
encouragement he could. Perhaps this
determination would have been less warm,
had not Colas personal appearance and
manners interested him, for Mr. Crome was
a gentleman of refined taste. Even his Art
was with him less an enthusiasm than a
genteel profession, which brought him under
the gracious notice of royalty and nobility.

In half-an-hour the same bland smile
and low voice came to charm Cola's inmost
heart. " We cannot talk here, my young
friend; will you accompany me to my
house ? "

The boy joyfully assented; Seppi, ever
thoughtful and respectful, whispering that
he would wait for his dear Signer in the
gallery'. Ere Cola could believe in the

132

HELP IN SEASON.

reality of his good fortune, lie stood in that
paradise of his dreams, an artist's studio.

The room was hardly such as he could
have pictured the sacred spot where Michael
Angelo or Raffaelle worked. It was a
luxurious, elegant apartment, adorned to
please the taste of wealthy sitters. It
contained many portraits, a few historical
piotures, and casts of celebrated statues.
The former Cola did not notice much, but
over the two latter his eyes lingered with
unspeakable delight. Gazing on them, he
felt his soul expand; his countenance
brightened, his tread grew firmer, and his
timidity passed away. The boy of genius
had found his true element at last.

Mr. Crome watched his new acquaintance
with curiosity and interest. By degrees he
drew out all Cola's little history, and the
interest deepened more and more.

" I am glad you are an Italian," said he.
" I love Italy : I spent many years there in
my youth, and painted many pictures too.
Look here!" and he showed Cola one or

133 M

HELP IN SEASON.

two Neapolitan and Roman scenes, so vividly
pourtrayed that the youth almost wept at
the childish' memories they brought. The
artist was flattered, nay, touched. He
laid is hand on Cola's shoulder, and said
warmly, —

'' My dear boy, you are of the right sort.
You will make a painter. Now sit down,
and let us see how we are to set about
it. To what branch of Art would your
taste lead you ? "

*^To the highest: I want to paint
gTeat historical pictures," cried the boy,
enthusiastically.

Mr. Crome shook his head. ''It will
not do in these days : your high Art
painters are always in poverty. Try a
little lower: begin, as I did, by portrait-
painting."

Cola's countenance fell. " I do not like
that half so well. It is hard to waste time
in reproducing ugly faces, when one longs
to paint ideal beauty." And then Cola
stopped, confused, for he remembered the

134

HELP IN SEASON.

portraits around the room, and one even
on the easel.

The court-artist looked nettled. "It
must be done, though, unless you prefer to
starve. You talk, my good sir, like all
young artists ; but you will lower your
tone by and by, and think it no disgrace
to tread in the footsteps of Sir Joshua
Reynolds and Sir Thomas Lawrence."

" Indeed I do not, now," answered Cola,
humbly. And then he had tact enough to
make no more apologies, but let the con-
versation change of itself.

Mr. Crome spoke of various ways in
which he could assist the fortunes of the
young 'artist, promised to give him intro-
ductions to several friends, among Avhom
were names so high in Art, that Cola was
ready to dance with joy. He also threw
out a few good-natured hints as to the
proper course of study, advised him to go
to the British Museum, and draw from the
antique; and promised to give him the
necessary recommendation, when he should

135

HELP IN SEASON.

be competent enough to enter as a pro-
bationer at the Royal Academy.

"And, remember, I shall always be liappy
to see you here, Signor del Monti; you
must allow me to refresh my tongue by the
long-disused Italian," said the artist, with
a courtly but pleasant smile. " Still, on
the whole, I would recommend you to
waive that sweet-sounding name, and be
plain Mr. Monti."

"I will do all you tell me, kind, generous
friend,'' cried Cola, in a wild impulse of
gratitude. And when Mr. Crome's aristo-
cratic-looking footman closed the door after
him, the boy walked down Berners-street,
his heart beating almost deliriously with
hope and joy. Oh! how bright, how
glorious the future looked I — To be an
artist, to lead a life among all beautiful
things, perhaps to rise to fame ! He would
not have exchanged destinies with the rich-
est young noble in the kingdom.

If those who are celebrated in Art or
Literature, who, like Mr. Crome, have

136

HELP IN SEASON.

readied " tlie top of the tree," would only
think how little it costs them to stretch
out a helping hand to those young strug-
glers who are trying to climb after them ! —
Even by a few kind words, what a great
deal of happiness they have in their power
to bestow !

CHAPTER XIII.

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

It was like passing out of light into dark-
ness, when, a few hours after leaving Mr.
Crome, Cola found himself in the little back-
parlour of street, Islington, where

Archibald had directed him. In his anxiety,
he was a little before the appointed hour,
and was not much surprised, when informed
by a dirty slipshod servant, that " Misther
M'^Kaye was not come in." So he and the
ever-attendant Seppi sat down to wait, very
unceremoniously as the maid evidently
thought.

The time was that dullest and most me-
lancholy hour in London, about sunset, and
the room faced the east. To Cola it ap-

138

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

peared the gloomiest he had ever seen in
his life, the dirtiest it certainly was. He
thought Bread-street quite delightful in
comparison, for that was merely a house of
business, while this was the pretence of a
home. A very bare and dreary home it
looked ; just the walls, carpets, chairs, and
table, without books, prints, newspapers, or
work. The only sign of its being inhabited
was a solitary ink- stand, with both bottles
empty, two stumps of pens, and an inch of
red sealing-wax.

There were a few knocks at the door, and
several young men came in successively,
stared at Cola and Seppi, and then disposed
of themselves in various ways. Some took
out books and tried to read by the dim light ;
others lounged about, talking, or drum-
med on chair backs. All seemed alike dull,
weary, and dispirited. At length ^PKaye's
voice was heard in the hall, and the hearty
welcome and warm greeting between the
youths brought back to both their old school-
days at Doctor Birch's.

139

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

" You must stay for tea : I can ask any
visitor I like : not that I trouble Mrs. Jones
mucli in that way, though," said Archy,
lauofhinof. ''She's the mistress of the
house," he added in an explanatory aside.
" All these are young fellows who board
here, like myself, clerks, medical students,
and such like. A queer set though ; I do n't
see much of them, which is a comfort. But
here 's Mrs. Jones."

And at the same time as tea and candles,
(or more properly speaking, the candle,)
there entered the cross old lady of the rail-
way-carriage, looking as cross as ever. Cola
glanced at Seppi, who had as usual crept
into the darkest corner he could find, so
that he escaped even the sharp eye of Mrs.
Jones. She recognised Cola, however, which
did not make her tone the milder, when in
reply to Archy's polite introduction, she
observed : —

"Very happy to see any friend of any
gentleman here; on the usual terms, of
course, Mr. M'^Kaye."

140

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

" Of course/' repeated Arcliy, somewhat
hastily : he did not want his friend to know
that this hospitality cost him half-a-crown.
Cola s only impediment to accepting it was
Seppi's being with him.

'* What, that little fellow here ? Really,
Cola, do you always intend to carry him
about with you in this way ? " w^as ^PKaye's
amused remonstrance.

And hereupon Mrs. Jones having dis-
covered her old enemy, insisted upon it that
he should quit the parlour for the kitchen.
Cola's indignation was fast rising, and a
w^irfare threatened to break forth, when Seppi
put an end to it, by creeping out at the
hall-door, having just darted the fiercest
lightnings of his black eyes at Mrs. Jones,
and whispered that he would wait for his
" dear Signor" in the street,

"Let him go," said Archy, mildly, as
Monti wanted to follow. " The lad will be
much happier there. And, Cola, I think
you are hardly wise in taking Seppi out
of his proper sphere. He is a good little

141

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

fellow, and you owe him mucli; but one
should always take care to pay even debts
of gratitude in suitable coin. I must read
you a lecture upon this subject, just as I
used to do at school. You'll not be vexed,
Cola ? " And the frank pleasant smile of
old, lit up Archibald's face, driving thence
all the care-wrinkles and the dust of Bread-
street, and showing him, as he was, a fine,
stalwart young Scotsman, clear-eyed, clear-
headed, and clear-hearted.

Cola acquiesced cheerfully, for his friend
had still the same unfailing influence over
him. When tea was over, M^'Kaye took
him up to his own bed-chamber, where they
could converse unreservedly and in quiet.
There, by the light of a beautiful full moon,
for candles were never plentiful at Mrs.
Jones's, the two youths talked together ovej
all their plans, hopes, and fears.

Archibald listened to the relation of the
day's adventure, and his cautious dispo-
sition tempered Cola's rather too sanguine
anticipations.

142

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

"Mr. Crome seems good and kind, and
you ought to be very mucli obliged to him.
I dare say he will help you a great deal :
still, Cola, you must trust chiefly to your-
self. I don't know much about Art, but
it strikes me that you will have years of
hard work and close study before attaining
eminence."

" I know I shall," answered Cola ; " ne-
vertheless I . am not afraid. I '11 begin
courageously."

Here Archy put in the all-important
question, " How ! "

" I do n't exactly see, but Mr. Crome will
show me the way ; perhaps find me a sitter
for a portrait — anything to make a begin-
ning. He told me to go to him again
next week."

" My dear Col?i, suppose you begin your
plans a little sooner than next week.
"Where are you going to-night ? " persisted
his matter-of-fact adviser.

Cola did not know. He had never
thought about that. Poor boy! He had

143

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

leen all day in a bright liapi)y dream ; it
seemed almost cruel of Archy to wake liim.
" You must live somewhere," said
M'^Kaye ; " suppose you were to come and
live here. Mother Jones is not so bad as
she looks ; she does not cheat, though she
is rather stingy. And it would be pleasant
for us to be together; wouldn't it, old
friend ? "

But there were two great impediments
to this — the weekly sum that Archibald
paid, looked serious to one whose whole
stock in life consisted of twenty pounds.
And then, what was to be done with Seppi ?

" It won't do, Archy ; they would not
take the poor lad in here, and I cannot part
with him. Nothing shall make me do it,"
cried Cola, resolutely, as if expecting some
opposition.

But iPKaye was too right-minded to
attempt anything of the kind. He saw
clearly that Cola's reason was a just and
true one. " No, no ; you must not give up
that noble-hearted faithful little fellow, and

144

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

SO you and Seppi must set up together on
your own account. Let me think how to
manage it."

Archy did think ; and his thoughts were
as sensible as ever, and as regularly resolved
themselves into deeds. The consequence
was, that before ten o'clock that night, the
two young adventurers were installed in a
comfortable room over the way — half
parlour, half bed-chamber.

'' It is best to begin with little," observed
the prudent Archy, as he looked round.
" You have all here you want, including a
window to the north, which you always
told me w^as indispensable for an artist : I
thought of that, you see."

"You think of everything, good, kind
Archy ! What a comfort you are to me ! "

"Am I? Well, I can return the com-
pliment. Cola. The sight of that brown
face of yours has really done me good. One
gets so weary, and dull, and cross, in this
hard-working London life, far away from
home ! I'm glad you are come, little King

145 H

THE FIRST STICK IN THE NEST.

Cole, as that queer fellow Forster used to
call you. Do you remember the day you
took his likeness and mine? "

" Yes, indeed," and Cola laughed merrily.

" They Ve got that sketch of me at
Aberdeen now, and think so much of it!
Won't it be a valuable production some of
these days, when people talk of the cele-
brated artist, Niccolo Monti ? "

"And of Sir Archibald JPKaye, the
greatest merchant in England."

" In Scotland, you mean : I 'm not going
to stay here longer than I can help. We
Scotsmen never do. We make our money
anywhere we can — and then we go and
spend it at home. Well, good night, Cola."

"And good night, Archy." The two
friends shook hands laughingly; but the
eyes of both were moist, and there was a
trembling seriousness in both hearts. They
felt that they were no longer boys, but had
entered together the responsible duties of
manhood.

146

CHAPTER XIYe

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS.

— Which, my dear reader, seems a little
time to look back upon, especially counting
it, as you probably do, from holidays to
holidays, — from Midsummer to Christmas.
But it seemed very different to the solitary
youth, struggling for daily bread amidst the
whirl of London ; always finding that same
daily bread very hard to get^ and sometimes
not getting it at all. If you could have
seen Cola three months after the evening
described in our last chapter, you would
hardly have recognized the boy. He seemed
to have grown ten years older. Poor fellow !
if any one now speaks to him of that sad

147

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS.

time, lie shakes his head with a serious
look, and ejaculates,

"Thank God, it is all over!"

But we must not pass by this period
quite so quickly, though we shall not dilate
upon it — it is too full of pain. Still, one
may draw from Cola's experience the moral
which he himself also drew ; viz. that there
is no fortune so hard but that it can be
overcome in time, and with patience and
perseverance.

Let it not be thought that Mr. Crome
failed in his kindliness. He did all he
promised; gave Cola introductions, — now
and then a little employment, and advice
continually. But he was a man of the
world; a court-painter. His time and
thoughts were too fully occupied to allow
of more than those passing kindnesses,
which great people can so easily show to
little ones. Perhaps, too, he had known
no struggles in his own youth, or if he had
they Avere forgotten. Whenever Cola came
to Berners-street, Mr. Crome was always

148

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS,

glad to see him : many times he even
thought of him spontaneously, and invited
him to his house, to meet other guests
likely to be of use to a struggling artist.
And when he saw the graceful, gentle-
manlike youth moving in his well-thronged
drawing room, making acquaintances among
the rich and celebrated — that is, evening
party acquaintances — Mr. Crome never
thought of the poor, one-roomed lodging
at Islington, the long dinnerless days,
occupied in study which brought little
pleasure, because no money, or spent in
vain search after work that would procure
the bare necessaries of life.

Cola Monti thus learned the indispensable
lesson — that every young man who wishes
to make his way in the world must trust
to himself alone. Friends he may have ;
the more the better, and they may help him
a great deal, provided he will help himself
at the same time. Cola depended too much
on the influence and aid of Mr. Crome, and
other celebrated artists, to whom the former

149 n3

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS.

liad introduced him. These gentlemen
praised his numerous designs, which were
indeed remarkable for fertility and poetic
fancy. They spoke well also of his sketches
for oil-paintings. One or two of the most
candid gently hinted that he wanted free-
dom of hand, and correctness in drawing,
and advised long study from the antique
before he attempted to paint pictures. But
still these were all " words, words, words ; ''
the young artist found no work, and con-
sequently earned no money. And every
day the twenty pounds was dwindling into
shillings, and still there were two growing
youths to be clothed, lodged, and fed ; him-
self and his faithful Seppi.

What Cola would have done without the
latter during this period, it is impossible to
say. The little Italian was as good a house-
keeper as a girl : it was he who looked after
all the minor details, which his master
would have entirely disregarded. Many a
time, in his dejection, Cola never noticed
the empty cupboard, and regarded as little

150

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS,

the sudden manner in which it was filled.
Perhaps the mystery would have been ex-
plained, if in his evening strolls by lamp-
light, the usual resource of all poor weary-
hearted London dwellers, he had chanced to
meet a little Italian boy, who went singing
-from street to street, through frost, and fog,
and rain, gaining many stray| pence, and
-even silver, through his sweet voice and
simple manners.

But Seppi never told his young master of
these night adventures, for he knew it
would have wounded deeply Cola's proud
and generous spirit, to think that even yet
he was under obligation to the little organ-
boy whom he had rescued from misery.
How much fruit had that one kind deed
brought forth ! What a mere trifle seemed
to have influenced the young artist's destiny !
But so it often is, when we look back upon
the mysteries of life. Only one thing we
know, that " as we sow so shall we reap"
in the end, whether the seed be good or
evil. _

151

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS.

And what had become of Archy IPKaye
all this while ? He knew not the extent of
Cola's troubles, for the Italian was too
proud to unfold them to a friend, who was
himself struggling so hord. Perhaps he
thought, likewise, that Archibald's character
was too different from his own to enable
him fully to sympathize with the keen
suflferings of a sensitive and disappointed
heart. But in this he somewhat misjudged
Archibald M^Kaye.

The friends did not see much of each
other, for Archy was at business all day,
and every day too ; there being no holidays
known at Bread-street, except Christmas-
day and Good-Friday. And week after
week found Cola plying his crayons at the
British Museum ; drawing every day, from
an early hour until the light faded. In the
evenings he tried to make little sketches
to sell at small print-shops ; but they were
rarely taken; and when he had a whole
heap of them on his hands, undisposed of,
it made him too dispirited to go on working.

152

THE STORY OF SIX MONTHS.

Still te mechanically continued drawing at
the Museum ; now and then painting some
small portrait; but he began to smile
bitterly at all his day-dreams of being a
great artist. He found it much easier to
starve. And this was the history of Cola's
first six months in London.

153

CHAPTER XT.

HOW A BRIGHT MORNING WALK PRODUCED A
BRIGHT THOUGHT.

"What, Cola, in bed still, this sunny
Christmas morning ! " said Archibald, as he
entered his friend's lodging.

/' I do n't see why I should get up," was '
the answer. "The Museum is shut, so I
can't go there as usual. I like staying in
bed, it is so still and quiet, one can doze and
forget the world and its cares."

The disconsolate, weary tone revealed to
Archy much that he had before only sus-
pected. Besides, the dreary aspect of the
fireless room, and the melancholy look of
the pale sallow face that lay on the pillow,
confirmed the tale.

" Seppi, why do n't you make haste and

164

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

light the fire?" said Cola, rather sharply.
Then, recollecting himself: "Oh, I forgot;
the lad is gone out for breakfast, if he can
get it. You'll excuse this, M'^Kaye ; all the
world knows a poor artist is no Croesus," he
added with a bitter lauoh.

Archy would not notice it. " Come, Cola,'^
he said cheerfully, " try and get up without
a fire : you know the old rhyme —

* Early to bed and early to rise,

Is the way to grow healthy, wealthy, and wise.' "

" I shall nev^er attain to the two latter ;
so I care little about the first. The longer
one lives, the more trouble one has ; and
perhaps it is best to cut the matter short at
once," replied the poor youth, whose state
of mind was really pitiable. IPKaye pene-
trated it at once, and like a true friend
went silently to work, in order to remedy
it. This time he abstained from reading
Cola a lecture ; he knew it would not do.
The boy needed to be roused and cheered,
not argued wath ; and the only way was to
draw him out of himself and his miseries.

155

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

^'Cola, my dear fellow, this will never
do ; I can't be left to spend a dull Christ-
mas-day all by myself, at Mother Jones's.
Here is as bright a winter-day as ever
shone out of the sky, and I want to enjoy
it with you. Let us both take a run out
into the country, up to Highgate or Hamp-
stead. ni give you a Christmas dinner, in
some nice quiet roadside inn, and we'll
wallc home by star-light. There's a first-
rate plan, eh ! my boy ? "

" You are very good, but I should only
bore you. Let me stay here, Archy, and
rest."

" Well I call that rather too bad, after I
have planned the excursion all this week!
Why, it would have been delicious, just like
our holidays together at the old doctor's!
However, if you will spoil my pleasure,
you must. Only, I'll not be driven out
alone. I'll not stir an inch all day," said
Archy, settling himself very composedly
on one chair, with his feet on the other.
"Now, you ill-natured fellow, go to sleep

166

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

again, if you like ; TU call you at dinner-
time."

Cola, miserable as lie was, could not help
laughing. "Don't abuse me so, Archy;
but indeed I am very dull and unhappy."
The laugh ended in a heavy sigh, and he
put both his hands over his face,

M^'Kaye rose up and took them away
gently. " Why did you not tell your friend
Archy this, long before now ? Is n't he as
good as an elder brother to you, scoldings
included ? Come, now, be a good fellow and
get up ; and we'll talk over the misery ; it
will not look so black out in the open
country as here. And we'll find some way
to get out of it, may be," said Archibald
affectionately.

Cola obeyed him like a child. They
stayed until Seppi came in and prepared
breakfast, of which APKaye pretended to
partake heartily, though he was not in the
least hungry. And indeed the frugal,
almost nauseous meal, was enough to drive
hunger away, In another hour he and

157 o

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

Cola were strolling arm-in-arm up tlie
Highgate-road.

There is hardly a more beautiful walk
anywere near London than this same road.
It looked so cheerful in the clear frosty
morning, with its hawthorn and rose-hedges
all besprinkled with crimson-berries, the
ground crisp and pleasant underfoot, and
overhead the bluest of winter skies. And
then, at every turn of the winding and hilly
road, came small beautiful " bits," as Cola,
in artist-phrase entitled them ; — tiny frag-
ments, of landscape, not grand indeed, but
very charming and refreshing, especially to
one who for months had looked on nothing
but bricks and mortar.

Cola s spirit rose. He leaned against the
stile that leads from the hill nearest to
Highgate, down a green meadow slope, to
the Cemetery. He breathed the fresh
morning air, and drank in with a painter's
eye and soul the view before him. The full,
bounding heart of youth beat once more in
his bosom, and his eyes almost overflowed.

158

A BRIGHT MOBJ^ING WALK.

Arcliy stood still beside liim, watching in
glad silence the change that had come over
the careworn face.

" How pleasant this is ! " cried Monti at
last. " I begin to think the world is not so
wretched after all ; I have a great mind to
give it another trial. Don't smile, Archy,"
continued he ; " but if you knew what
miserable wicked thoughts I have had of
late"—

"Why so?"

"Because I am disappointed in all I
attempt. It is very hard to wait day after
day, and have no chance of anything but
starvation ; and sometimes Seppi and I have
not been so far off that already."

"My poor Cola, and I never knew it !"

" Of course not, and you would not have
known it now, only I am so down-hearted
and foolish, and you are so kind . "

" This will never do, my dear lad ; I
can't stand by and see you breaking your
heart and pining away in this quiet composed
fashion, until you give me the satisfaction

159

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

of finding you a comfortable home out
there," answered M'^Kaye, pointing to the
Highgate cemetery before them, and making
a desperate attempt at comicality, which he
generally did when much affected. "Just
throw some light on the subject, will you?
let me into your matters a little. We can
hold a cabinet-council very conveniently on
this stile. Begin, my boy ! "

And partly with seriousness, partly by a
little harmless jesting, Archibald succeeded
in arriving at the true state of affairs. He
walked on thoughtfully for a little, and
then said, —

"Cola, it strikes me you are on the
wrong tack. Instead of waiting until people
find you employment, (I beg your pardon
for applying the term to such a grand thing
as Art,) you ought to look for it yourself.
Don't trust any longer to these great folk;
stand up boldly on your own account. You
are a very clever fellow, and I '11 never
believe but that such talent as yours will
make its way."

ICO

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

" Much obliged to you, Arcliy, for your
good opinion ; but how am I to convert
talent into money ? I am not yet skilful in
painting ; nobody would buy my daubs,
and it torments me even to have to disgrace
myself by selling such rubbish, when, with
a little experience, I might do something
creditable. What am I to turn to, in order
to find bread, while I work out the powers
which 1 feel I have within me ?"

"That is just what I have been con-
sidering. Now, here is my plan. You know
all the world is mad for illustrated books,
and I am sure I have seen designs of yours
enough to paper a room. (Don't look so
vexed, dear Cola, you know my ways.)
With your fertile in^pgination and ready
hand, why not turn wood-draughtsman ? "

" Wood-draughtsman ! " echoed the young
artist, rather surprised, and perhaps a little
humiliated.

" Yes ; it is an excellent profession, and
will serve until better times come. Besides,
you might keep on with the painting still."

161 o3

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

"But I know no Art-puWisliers ; and
have no introductions."

" Who cares for introductions ? My dear
fellow, stand on your own feet; trust to
your own talents. Never fear but they will
find their proper level. Go from one
publisher to another, as a youth like you
may do without lowering the dignity of Art.
Take your portfolio under your arm, and
your own genius will be your best intro-
duction. For you have genius. Cola, and I
know and feel it, though I do laugh at you
sometimes. You'll get work, never fear.
Take my word for it, that a clever fellow
like you need never starve, if to his talent
he only adds a little common sense, so as
to show him how to use it. People will
find out his value, and treat him kindly
too; for the world, like a certain other
individual of whom I do n't think it proper
to speak, is by no means as black as it 's
painted."

Cola laughed merrily, " You are a wise
fellow, Archy, though your wisdom comes

162

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

out chiefly in a joke. I '11 think over what
you say."

" And act upon it, Cola ? "

"I will; there's my hand as a pledge.
I feel brave already — could face all the
Art-publishers in London. Let me see;
to-morrow is Saturday ; and these English
people eat and drink so much on Christmas-
day, that they are never thoroughly awake
the day after. But on Monday I will set
about your scheme. Dear Archy, how much
lighter you have made my heart ! "

They took the homeward walk by star-
light, as APKaye had planned, and the quiet
beautiful night drew their hearts nearer
together. Their talk comprehended the
deepest feelings of both ; Cola s hopes of the
future, with all his artist-dreams ; — and the
far-off cottage near Aberdeen, whither all
the strong home-affections of the young
Scotsman ever turned.

" You shall go there some time. Cola,"
said Archy. "I long to show you my father
and mother, and the five boys — and my little

A BRIGHT MORNING WALK.

sister Jessie. She's grown a woman now
tliougL. You shall take all their likenesses
in a fiimily group. But by then you will
have got far above portrait-painting, and be
Avorking at grand historical pictures, with
figures ten feet high — cl la Michel Angelo."
Cola s cheerful laugh again rang through
the clear frosty air. He had recovered that
lost talisman, without which youth — es-
pecially youth allied with genius — cannot
long exist. He could once more walk
through the world erect, for he had hope in
his bosom.

CHAPTER X,

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBUSHER.

In spite of all his brave resolutions, Cola
felt somewhat out of his element, and
decidedly uncomfortable, when he found
himself trudorino: alone: on the wettest of
Tvet December mornings, prepared for the
first time to make of his beloved and re-
vered Art a marketable commodity. This
circumstance was not quite pleasant to him;
it seemed to the enthusiastic young artist
rather degrading to have to go and ask
for work, like a bricklayer's labourer. For
though conscious of his own personal hu-
mility. Cola had a strong sense of the
dignity of his Art ; and in those days our
great painters had not yet lent their hands —

1G5

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

and worthily too — to elevate public taste,
proving by their own example that real
genius ennobles whatever it touches.

" I wonder what Mr. Crome, Mr. ,

or Mr. would say, if they saw me

now, and knew the business I was about ! "
thought Cola, feeling half ashamed. "And
yet one must have bread, and it is really
no disgrace for an artist to be a wood-
draughtsman."

Nevertheless, when the youth found him-
self within the precincts of one of those
great publishing houses, which were then
beginning to set the fashion of illustrated
works, he was oppressed by that curious
mixture of pride and timidity which marked
his character. During the half-hour that
he had to wait the important interview, his
courage was gradually oozing out at his
finger ends. He clutched his portfolio with
a nervous grasp ; his shyness, as is not un-
frequently the case with persons of similar
temperament, taking the form and outward
manifestations of extreme vanity, he fancied

166

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

that all the eyes of all the publisher's clerks
were directed upon him, in curious and con-
temptuous inquiry. And then his pride
sinking through various gradations to the
most perfect self-distrust, he began to think
himself quite incompetent for even the
branch of Art he had a few hours before
felt disposed to contemn, and but for the
shame of flying from those six pair of
optics, he would certainly have made a
precipitate retreat.

" Mr. will see you now," was the

dread summons, and Cola stood in the
presence-chamber, his portfolio under his
arm. The youth of genius was now brought
for the first time into an atmosphere of
business. It positively froze him; he
quailed beneath the questionings of the
piercing little eyes, which silently awaited
his explanation. It came with a trembling
hesitation and a total and pitiable want
of self-confidence, that apparently did not
argue much in the young artist's favour
with the lofty personage he addressed.

167

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

" Have you drawn miicli on wood ? and
what houses have employed you?'' were the
first questions most natural, and most cour-
teously asked, but which struck poor Cola
with dismay. His negative replies brought
back merely an impressive " hem ! " but
no other observation of any kind.

Monti opened his portfolio; and the
publisher turned over, with a hand of
jnost business-like carelessness, the fruits of
many a long evening of artist dreaming.
♦"Patient Griseldis," "Undine," "Hyperion,"
were scanned with glances whose calm indif-
ference was almost more disagreeable than
the critical eye of a connoisseur. Not a
word either of praise or blame escaped
this polite individual; he shut the book
and returned it.

" I am sorry, sir, but our arrangements
for the season, w^ith regard to illustration,
are already completed ; good morning ! "

It was well for Cola that his energy and
determination, though not easily roused,
when once fairly wound up, sustained him

168

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

for a long time. Still, he was in a frame
of mind very much akin to desperation,
when, after two or three disappointments,
he entered the door of the last Art-publisher
on the list which the far-seeing Archibald
had enumerated.

" Well, young man, what do you want?"
was the straightforward question of this
personage, an ugly, blunt-spoken man. But
there was a touch of good-nature in his
roughness that made it infinitely more
promising than the terrible politeness of
the first one.

Cola w^ent through the form of expla-
nation, now become stereotyped in his
memory with painful vividness.

" Humph ! a young artist ; can 't find
bread by oil-painting, so condescends to
wood — isn t that it ? "

Cola did not approve of this form of
phrase, and, colouring deeply, said so.

"Well, never mind mere words. Don't
iose your temper. Show me your drawings."

He examined the treasure-laden portfolio

169 p

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

for a long time, and, as Cola fancied, with
the air of a man who knew something about
it. The youth felt his heart warm to the
ugly face — over which an unmistakeahle
expression of interest, if not satisfaction —
seemed gradually to creep. But the charm
was well-nigh dispelled, when the publisher
turned suddenly round, saying, —

" Young man, I dare say you think your-
self a genius ! "

Cola, much confused, drew back.

" Well, well, never mind, for I happen to
think so too. Give me your hand."

The young artist responded to the grasp,
his cheek varying from red to pale and
his lip almost quivering at this unexpected
kindness.

" I like this, and this ; only there's a leg
out of drawing, and here's a rather awkward
pose. You see I know something about
the matter, though I am no painter myself,"
said this w^orthy individual, who came to
prove to the almost despairing Cola, that
even the world of publishers owned a few

170

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

men with shrewd common sense and kindly
hearts. " How long have you practised
wood-drawing?"

" I have never yet tried it, sir."

A grimace passed over the ugly face, not
improving its beauty. "I see you don't
know much of the world, young man. In
our business, and I suppose in nearly every
other, the usual way of trying to get on,
is by never acknowledging that you are
ignorant of anything. Excuse me, but,
though I like you all the better for your
candour, it is rather comical that you should
come and ask me for employment here, when
you have never touched a block in your life.
Do you know what wood-drawing is ? ''

" I suppose, like any other kind of
drawing."

"Not at all; it is a craft of itself, re-
quiring regular learning and plenty of prac-
tice, before you can get the knack of it.
Look here," — and he touched one of Cola's
designs, — " you have a free hand; you sketch
boldly ; but such a bit as this fine cross hatch-
ing would drive an engraver crazy .'^

171

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

And tlien, with a patience and clearness
that did equal credit to his good nature and
his acquaintance with the subject, he ex-
plained to Monti the peculiarities of wood-
drawing; the necessity for firm, sharp
outline, simple forms, and careful, not too
elaborate work, with other technicalities
which are indispensable in making pencil
and graver unite together to produce a per-
fect whole.

" That's the reason the drawings of some
of our cleverest artists look atrocious when
engraved," said he, "because these big
fellows will not have the patience to acquire
w^hat they consider a lower style. They stand
up for their crotchets, and the engravers for
theirs, till it comes to a regular battle. I
wonder how the world would get on, if people
did not try to accommodate one another now
and then ! There 's a maxim for you, young
gentleman, if you are not above following
it; and so you have a lesson in wood-
drawing and ethics at once."

" Thank you very much for both, sir,"
answered Cola ; but his tone, though grateful,

172

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

was desponding ; and he began to refasten
his eternal portfolio with a heavy sigh.

The good-natured publisher noticed it.
" What ! faint hearted at your age ? really,
my young friend, why do you pull such a
long face on the matter? I hope I have
said nothing to discourage you."

" You have said everything kind, I am
sure ; but there seems little chance for me,
as of course I cannot ask you to employ
me, when I am quite incompetent to the
work."

" But that is no reason why you should
remain incompetent, and I am not aware that
I have dismissed you yet ; so put down your
hat, and re-seat yourself." Cola obeyed.

"In plain English,'' pursued he of the
nice, good, ugly face, leaning that ill-
favoured visage on his hands, and bringing
it to a level with Cola's beautiful and now
pale countenance. "In plain English, I
have such droves of small artists tormenting
me — young, self-conceited cubs, would-be
geniuses — that a quiet simple-mannered

173 p 3

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

jouth, who seems to have the real thing in
him, and no sham, is quite a relief. I like
jon. I would help you if I could; only
you must first learn how to help yourself.
Will you take some blocks, and practice,
until you can draw on wood well enough to
suit me? It will take time and patience,
but it would be worth your while, for the
profession is profitable, and growing more
so every day."

Cola joyfully assented, his grateful heart
beaming in his eyes.

"And now, just as a matter of form, or
Tather because I should like to know a little
more about you, tell me your name, and
whether you are a stranger here, or have
acquaintances among London artists ?

The youth mentioned Mr. Crome, and
one or two others of his friends— men of
sufficient celebrity to astonish the publisher.

'' Why did you not mention this before ?
it might have been of use to you. Any
other young man would have had these
great names perpetually on his tongue, and

174

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBHSHEB.

have introduced himself everywhere by
means of them."

The young Italian drew up his slight
figure with a just pride in himself and in
his Art. "If I am worth nothing in myself,
I doubt if I should be made of more value
by hanging on the skirts of other people."

" Bravo, Mr. Monti ! You are quite right
in the main," was the involuntary excla-
mation of the worthy publisher, as he rose
to end the interview. "And that sort of
feeling is the right feeling ; which I wish
your fellow-artists were sharp enough to
see. Talent always finds its level, when it
is balanced by hard work and common
sense besides. Only you must not get too
high and haughty, until you are strong
enough to stand alone. i\nd now, take
your blocks, go and try your best, and suc-
cess to you ! Good morning."

"Well," thought Cola, as with a light-
ened heart he turned homeward, " if this is
what Archy calls ' working one's way,' and
* standing on one's own feet,' I think I have

176

THE ARTIST AND THE PUBLISHER.

made a good beginning. It seems to me
that getting on in the world is like tramping
through a bed of nettles ; put your feet out
boldly, and you'll not get much stung."

This fine poetical and moral sentiment
brought Cola's walk, — as it does our
chapter, — to a very appropriate termina-
tion.

CHAPTER XVII.

HIGH ART STUDIES.

It required every grain of patience Cola
could muster — and unfortunately, like many
another genius, he possessed this necessary
commodity in homoeopathic quantities —
before he could succeed in becoming a
tolerable good wood-draughtsman. He had
wonderful fertility in design, and an imagi-
nation that almost carried him away ; but
these required to be tamed down before they
could be of much use to him in the new
handicraft, to which he had devoted his
pencil for a season.

Besides, the whole tendency of his mind
was for what Archibald gaily entitled, '^ the
grand style and Michel Angelo." He could

177

Hian ART STUDIES.

not bear to descend from the sublime of
a gigantic drawing — the Theseus or the
Gladiator, for instance — to the ridiculous of
some small tail-piece in a child's book. He
liked to dash away with charcoal or crayon,
"not sketching, but building a man," as
the Academy pupils said of Fuseli ; and the
pencil refinements of wood-drawing were to
Cola at first not only disagreeable but
almost impracticable. It would perhaps
reflect but little credit on the young artist's
evenness of temper, were I to relate how
many spoiled blocks he sometimes sent
whirling across the room, vowing that he
would starve sooner than torment himself
with such contemptible work.

But if he caught sight of Seppi's thin
face, as the lad quietly picked up these
missiles, Cola was always mollified and
calmed at once. Sometimes in his fits of
anger or despondency, he began to talk and
think, as most other young and sensitive
minds do, that life is a weary burden, and
he did not care how soon he died. But

178

HIGH ART STUDIES.

then the gentle loving face of his little
countryman was a silent monitor, pro-
claiming the truth, — which these despairing
misery-mongers sometimes forget, — that no
one can go out of the world without leaving
some one to mourn ; and if we would fain
die to please ourselves, we have no right,
by such a summary exit, to inflict pain on
other people.

This doctrine was preached over and over
again by Archy M'^Kaye, in his own dry,
half-serious, half-comical manner, which
often touched Cola sensibly, when a grave
discourse would have been utterly thrown
away. And since that Christmas-day ramble
the sympathy between the two friends seemed
to have increased more and more, not only
in kind feeling, — for there it never failed, —
but even in taste. Cola's little room,- which
now began to look a great deal more cheer-
ful under the influence of his improved
fortunes, was perpetually visited by Archi-
bald ; and the young artist had no longer
any reluctance in showing all he did, and in

179

HIGH ART STUDIES.

talking over all he thought. Indeed, as he
often said jestingly, he was educating Archi-
bald into a future picture-buyer and con-
noisseur.

As for the young painter himself, he
pursued his noble and beautiful Art with an
energy and enthusiasm worthy of it and of
himself. He suffered nothing to allure him
from it — no idleness, no youthful pleasures ;
and in his Art-studies he was daunted by
no dfficulties. Archibald often laughed
w^hen he found the poetical and imaginative
Cola plunged in the mysteries of some dry
work on painting, or making careful anato-
mical drawings, as if the human skeleton
were as interesting a subject for the pencil
as the Apollo Belvidere. It was indeed a
beautiful and touching thing to see how
every energy of his young and ardent mind
was directed to the one pursuit, which
engrossed all its powers. But such is
always the case with true geuius — for genius
is work.

It was curious sometimes to notice the

180

HIGH ART STUDIES,

amusing expedients to which Monti was
obliged to resort, in the furtherance of his
artistic studies. M^'Kaye walked in one
evening, and found him working away at
the home-manufactured easel; the work-
manship of the same friendly hand whose
mechanical ingenuity had fabricated many a
picture-frame in the old school-days. Seppi,
wrapped in a comical sort of blanket-drapery,
reclined in a grand attitude on the table,
holding the candle above his head, and thus
serving at once as a model and chandelier.
Archibald could not help smiling at the
artist and his sitter ; but the former was so
absorbed that he merely nodded his head,
with a " Well, Archy ! '* Seppi looked as
solemn as a judge, lest he should, by any
change of limb or feature, annoy his dear
Signor, whom he verily believed to be the
greatest painter that ever lived.

Archibald looked over his friend's
shoulder, at the studies which Cola was
making for a picture which he had con-
tinually in his mind. Seppi figured there

181 Q

HIGH ART STUDIES.

under all characters, and in every variety of
drapery. He was a useful individual, and
truly his place was no sinecure.

" I 'm getting on, you see," said Monti.
" I shall begin the picture soon, — when the
days are longer, and the Academy is closed.
It would not do to give up studying there,

you know. That good old soul, E , was

quite right when he advised me to draw
well before I tried to paint. Stand out of
the light, please, Archy ! for I must finish
this. I might never get such a grand bit of
drapery again. Keep still, Seppi ! "

And on dashed the charcoal, while
M'^Kaye sat watching the wonderfully free
hand of the young artist.
•. '* How goes on the wood-drawing, Cola ! "
inquired he, after a little.

" Oh, do n't talk about it, there's a good
fellow !" answered the other, with an uneasy
shrug. "I've been working away every
night this week : I will have a little rest,
now, I hope.'*

But that very minute came a knock at

182

HIGH ART STUDIES.

the door, and a parcel from Mr. ; the

same good, ugiy-looking publisher, who now
gave Cola regular employment. It con-
tained half-a-dozen small blocks, which
were immediately wanted for an illustrated
edition of Goody Two-Shoes.

Michel Angelo himself could not have
cast them down with an air of more sublime
indignation than did Cola Monti !

" Now that is too bad ! is it not, Archy ?
When my mind is full of the picture, and I
want a little leisure to work it out, to have
^to do these contemptible things ! 1*11 write

to Mr. , and give them up altogether.

I wonder what he means by sending me
such nonsense to illustrate ! This is the
third baby-book I have had: it is a dis-
grace to an artist!"

Archibald had at first felt strongly in-
clined to laugh; but when he saw how
seriously annoyed his friend appeared, he
changed his mind.

" My dear fellow," said the gTave young
Scotsman, " I don't consider it any disgrace

183

HIGH ART STUDIES.

at all. The grand thing is not what a man
does, but how he does it. I would advise
you to take this commission, and execute it
to the best of your power."

"Nonsense! anything is good enough
for such a mean task."

" I don^t agree with you there. Never
sink your genius down to the level of your
work, but elevate the work by your genius.
Put as much talent as ever you can into
these ugly little wood-blocks. Why, Cola,"
and Archy's face relaxed into its pleasant
irresistible smile, "your very particular
friend, Michel Angelo, would have made,
with a burnt stick and the side of a wall, a
grander work than some modern artists
could accomplish with yards of canvas and
oceans of paint. See if you cannot do the
same in your small way. Try and be the
Michel Angelo of wood-designers."

Cola laughed, in spite of himself.
*' Bravo, Archy! your Aphorisms on Art
would rival Hazlitt's : where did you learn
it all — at Bread -street ? "

184

HIGH ART STUDIES,

ftPKaye did not look in the least offended,
lie knew Cola too well. "I was not born
at Bread-street, remember ! " said he, quite
glad to see that his words had calmed the
storm a little. " That is only the work-a-
day half of me which is kept among the
carpets ; the other half, and the best,
belongs to the Highland hills. I gathered
up all my wisdom there. And besides,"
added he more seriously, " I think I am all
the better, dear Cola, for having you near
me, to keep me from sinking into a regular
money-getting city fellow, and to put me in
mind of the higher and more beautiful
things of life. My dull plodding existence
would be duller still, if I had not an artist
for my friend, even though he is a wild
young genius, like Cola Monti."
— "Who storms and rages, and will not
listen to reason on any account whatever,
for which he is heartily ashamed of himself,
Archy," cried the other, with a hearty
hand-clasp that atoned for all.

" But, who is yet the best fellow in the

185 q3

HIGH ART STUDIES.

world ; which fact is ready to be main-
tained in single-combat against any indi-
vidual who denies the fact, by his old friend,
quiet, steady-going Archibald M'^Eaye. But
come," added the young Scotsman, "here
we are keeping poor Seppi in his grand
attitude, and one can t lie long as a wounded
warrior without getting the cramp ; besides^
a small piece of blanket-drapery is not quite
so warm as coat and trousers. Make haste,
Cola ! finish your study, and then see how
much of your beloved High Art you can
put into Goody Two-Shoes."

CHAPTER XVIIL

SHOWING THAT PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

Cola's fortunes improved slowly, but
surely. He migrated from the shabby
lodging at Islington two miles further north,
whereiis favourite Hampstead breezes could
blow in at the rose-scented window of his
little painting-room; — for he had arrived
at the dignity of two rooms, with a closet
for Seppi. This same faithful attendant
had risen in the world along with his master.
Seppi's velveteen jacket had given place to
good plain attire, and his clear boy's voice
was no longer heard singing in the dark
wintry streets. He was acquiring an edu-
cation too, commenced at the Italian school,

187

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS

which that good man, Joseph Mazzini, first
established for his poor wandering country-
men ; Cola, in his few leisure hours, com-
pleting the work thus began, and making
quite a clever well-informed youth of his
little servant.

During this long weary probation of deep
poverty, the young artist had never known
what it was to have a^ shilling to spend,
on any intellectual amusement : books,
picture-galleries, theatres, all those harm-
less recreations, which to a mind of his
stamp are almost indispensable, were wholly
unattainable. Now he began to enjoy a few
of them, with that intense appreciation and
•delight, which, in a nature highly sensitive
and finely moulded, is much keener than in
ordinary characters. But all his pleasures
were taken in moderation ; and even sober
Archy M'^Kaye, who cared little about such
things himself, merely shook his head once
or twice at first, and then acknowledged there
was no harm in a little amusement now
and then.

188

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

" Only remember, work before play ! " was
his gentle admonition, repeated perhaps a
degree oftener, as the spring of Cola s second
year in London advanced, and the young
artist was busily engaged on that important
work — his first Academy Picture. It was
?ndeed the grand crisis of his life, as he and
Archibald well knew ; and when the painting
advanced, its progress formed the chief topic
of conversation with them both. Archy
was almost as anxious as his friend, and
Cola often laughingly told him he was
getting quite a critic and connoisseur in Art.
Indeed, the two schoolmates were assimi-
lating more and more, and as neither made-
any other warm friendship, theirs grew into
an almost brotherly affection.

At last, to alter the even current of their
lives, came chance, in the shape of a third
old school-mate.

Cola and Archy were riding from the city
together, in that very unromantic con-
veyance, an omnibus. It was after the
hour when city-people throng in such num-

189

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

bers from their little dens of offices to the
welcome air even of Islington and Camden
Town, consequently our two friends were
. the only passengers. However, a third
soon came in ; — a youth who was evidently
trying his utmost to seem a man, by
means of the most stylish dress possible, a
small apology for a moustache, apparently
zealously cultivated, a cane, and an eye-
glass. This latter he used to scan his
fellow-passengers with an air of careless
indifference, which soon changed to un-
disguised surprise.

" Ton my life, that 's odd ! Shake hands,
old fellow ! for I'll bet anything you are the
very identical Archy M'^Kaye.'^

''And you're Morris Woodhouse! who
would have thought of meeting you here ? '*
was the cordial answer, " Why, here are
three of us, old school-fellows : do n't you
remember Cola Monti ? "

"What! is that my old enemy, little
King Cole ? Give us your paw, my boy !
How you are altered I "

190

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

And a hearty greeting passed between
the youths; for at all times one is glad
to meet old school-mates, and revive old
associations. Then they began to talk;
Morris rattling away, with a curious mixture
of his former boyish frankness, and his
newly- acquired college affectations.

" Came up from Cambridge to see the old
governor, who took it in his head to be near
going off, like this," and Woodhouse snapped
his fingers. " But he changed his mind —
got better ; so I left him, and ran up here,
to see a little of town-life before the va-
cation's out. It do n't signify much to the
governor; he's quite childish now."

Archy looked surprised and rather dis-
gusted ; but the hopeful " only son and heir'*
went on describing, with great gusto, the
pleasures of a college-life, as it presents
itself to young gentlemen of large expecta-
tions. Still there was a ready wit and
talent about Morris Woodhouse, that made
him a most amusing companion: Cola,
especially, was attracted by his dashing and

191

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

clever chat, for it could hardly be called
conversation.

"And now, my lads, how goes the world
with you ? " said Morris, pausing for the
first time to think ahout some one beside
himself. " You have turned merchant, as
I hear, M'^Kaye ; given up Latin and Greek
for ledger and counting-house. Pleasant,
is n't it ? " And the young collegian made
a half-contemptuous grimace.

"I don't like it, but it must be done,'*
answered Archibald, steadily and unmoved.
" I work very hard at Bread-street, and I'm
not ashamed of it either."

" Oh, no ! of course not,'' said Morris, a
little confounded. " And King Cole, what
have you turned to ? Made any nice little
arrangements with the counts, your cousins,
and the princes, your ancestors, eh ? "

*'I am an artist," replied Cola, some-
what proudly, and with a heightened
colour.

" Well, I never ! So that was the end of
your sketching and caricaturing! Who'd

192

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

have thouglit that Dr. Bircli would have
turned out a genius from among his lads.
And you have really joined the tribe of
seedy-looking fellows ; with long hair and
turned-down collars, as I hear all artists
described ? "

"I trust I do not come under the
category," said Cola ; and though somewhat
vexed, could not help smiling.

"No; I do n't see that you do, exactly,"
cried Woodhouse, elevating his eye-glass.
" Good-looking young man, dark hair, close
and curly, black neckerchief; but what a
one it is I Why, Monti, you'd be hunted
out of college for sporting such a rag!
De — cidedly ungentlemanly ! " and the
fashionable youth returned to his affected
drawl, which, to Cola's quick sense of the
ludicrous, was really amusing.

"I hope I shall never make a fool of
myself by dressing either like a would-be
artist or a dandy ; being too poor for the
latter, and having a hearty contempt for
the former," observed he. " One does not

193 s

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

measure a fellow's genius by the length of
his hair; and when a man takes extra-
ordinary care of the outside of his head, it
is generally a sign that he has little or
nothing in the inside of it. That is not
my remark, however; 'tis one of Archy's
wise saws," continued Monti, with a glance
at his friend, who was preparing to alight
at the end of his own street.

But Woodhouse put in a cordial objection
to their parting thus, and invited both of
his old acquaintances to dine with him.

" We '11 do it in style. I 've capital
claret at my lodgings, and cigars, real
Havannas, and Meerschaums too : which do
you smoke, King Cole ? " said the youth,
with the careless, independent air of one
who thought himself quite a man, and a
man of fashion too.

"I don't smoke at all; I should not
like it, I fancy," answered the simple-
minded Cola. At which Morris cast up
his eyes, and rubbed his incipient moustache

194

PROSPERITY HAS ITS DANGERS.

with his cane, in a silent expression of
compassionate wonder.

" Well, you '11 both come ; we '11 manage
to make a night of it, somehow or other :
perhaps drop in at the Opera, which opens
to-night. I 've got tickets."

" That will he delicious," cried the en-
thusiastic Italian, to whom a pleasure so
rare conveyed delight inexpressible. " You
will come, Archy ; only this once ! ''

But Archy had to be at Bread-street by
nine: his quiet regular habits were not
easily broken in upon; — also, he was not
very much fascinated with the society of
Morris Woodhouse, and never cared to visit
the Opera. A friendly discussion ended in
his bidding adieu to both the others, and
taking his way to the dull abode of Mrs.
Jones. Only, as he jumped out of the
omnibus, he managed to whisper to his
friend —

"I say. Cola, take care of yourself:
do n't forget the picture ! "

195

r'HAPTER XIX,

A TIME OP DABKNESS.

The picture did indeed stand a chance
of being forgotten, or at least neglected.
Cola tried to set to work again on the next
day, but it was in vain ; he was too tired to
paint. He had come home at three in the
morning; not indeed after any excesses,
for Cola's nature was too refined and pure
to allow him ever to become either a glutton
or a wine-bibber. But he had supped with
Morris after the Opera, and then had to
walk home three miles, through a bleak
March night. He reached his lodgings, his
brains still dizzied by the fumes of cigars,
and his frame thoroughly chilled and ex-
hausted with bodily fatigue, after mental

196

A TIME OF DAKKNESS.

excitement. He scolded poor Seppi for
having gone to sleep and let the fire out,
and then went wearily to bed. He rose,
not as was his custom, with the lark, that
sang merrily over the Highgate fields, but
with the baker's cart, that never came
untU twelve, a.m. The picture had httle
attractions this morning.

He sat before it ; the palette, which
Seppi regularly set, getting dryer and
dryer. His head ached, his hand was un-
steady ; he found fault with what he had
already done, and yet felt too stupid to
improve it. At last he began to think it
was no use working that day, and would
turn out for "a walk. But before he had
summoned the resolution necessary to take
hat and gloves, a visitor came in : it was
Morris Woodhouse.

"Eeally, old fellow, how knocked up
you look ! How d'ye feel, eh ? As if you
had eaten an apple-dumpling, and it had
got into your head? ''

Cola laughed, though he experienced a

197 R 3

A TIME OF DARKNESS.

slight sensation of shame. But this was
less on account of .his last night's exploit,
than of its effects. He felt annoyed that
he could not stand dissipation as well as
the other could.

" Come, do 'nt be a girl ; you 'II get used
to this sort of work in time," said Morris,
with a patronizing air. "On with your
hat, and we '11 take a run down the river,
to Richmond, just to freshen you up."

The proposal sounded most welcome to
the poor jaded boy. It was a lovely spring
morning ; the banks of the river would look
beautiful. Besides, argued Cola to himself,
an artist must study nature in the open air
as well as paint at home ; so it would not be
throwing away a day.

But he did contrive to throw away the
day, nevertheless, and the next day too ; for
the repetition of late hours entailed the
sacrifice of that precious morning freshness
in body and mind, without which intellectual
labour is but vain, or else pursued with a
struggle and eflfbrt that risks both health

198

A TIIVIE OF DARKNESS.

and peace. Then Sunday came, with
Archibald to dinner, as usual ; but that
true and steady friend looked gravely at the
small progress made in the picture, and
Cola resolved that on Monday morning he
would " turn over a new leaf.''

This metaphorical performance is one
more easily talked of than done, especially
to a youth of Cola's temperament — ener-
getic in great things, but feeble and vacil-
lating in the smaller affairs of life. He
found the "leaf" to stick very much; and
at last he determined not to try to turn
it over at all, until Woodhouse was gone.
Every day the young collegian talked of
being off to Cambridge, and it was not
worth while vexing him by refusing the
continual amusements which his somewhat
reckless generosity provided for his school-
mate.

Seven days passed — fourteen : — it was
the last week in March, that week of all
weeks to the artist brotherhood. Our poor
Cola sat before his unfinished picture in

199

A TIME OF DARKNESS.

perfect despair. Morris had at last gone,
and, the whirl of amusement over, the
young painter had time to think what it
had cost him.

A year's prospects, perhaps the good
fortune of a life -time, thrown away for
one short season of pleasure! He hated,
despised himself; he would have wrung his
hands, and wept like a child, only he was
not alone ; Archibald stood behind, with an .
expression of deep regret on his calm,
serious face.

" It is no use lamenting. Cola," he said,
kindly; "you must try again next year.
The picture could not be finished now, if
you were to work ever so hard."

" But it shall be finished ! " cried Cola,
almost frantically. " I will do it, if I die
over it ! '*

M'^Kaye shook his head. " My dear Cola,
judging by the rate at which you used to
paint, it would take two or three weeks*
work, and you have only ten days before the
day of sending in to the Academy."

200

A TIME OF DARKNESS.

"I can make them twenty, by adding
the nights. Don 't thwart me, Archibald ;
don't, if you ever cared for me in your
life ! " he added, pleading with a touching
emphasis. " I have been a fool, an idiot !
I know I have, but I will make up for it.
The picture must be finished, or it will drive
me mad I **

And it was finished. Night and day
Cola worked; allowing himself only an
hour or two for sleep, and scarcely taking
any food. His wild and desperate energy
sustained him to a degree almost miracu-
lous. Under the influence of this terrible
excitement, his powers seemed redoubled;
he painted as he had never painted before.
Archibald, evening after evening, walked up
from Islington, not to talk or reason, — he
dared not do that in Cola's present state, —
but to sit quietly in the painting-room,
watching his labours, and at times en-
couraging them with a few subdued words
of praise, which Cola sometimes scarcely

201

A TIME OF DARKNESS.

heard. Even M^'Kaye was astounded by
the almost marvellous way in which, day
after day, the picture advanced to completion
beneath the young artist's hand ; and as he
looked he could not but acknowledge that
there is nothing in this world so strong, so
daring, so all-powerful as genius.

The first Monday in April came — there
were but four- and- twenty hours left;
Tuesday — there were but twelve! Seppi
stood by with the untasted dinner, his
bright black eyes continually filling with
tears. He dared not even speak to his
young master, who with wild and haggard
looks, was painting still.

The clock struck six, as Colas now
trembling hand put the last stroke to his
picture, and sank on a chair.

"It will do now, I think; it will not
disgrace me at least."

" No, indeed it will not, dear Cola ! It
is a beautiful picture," whispered the gentle,
encouraging voice of Archy, who had come

202

M'c Kaye was astounded by the almost marvellous mamier in which
the picture advanced to completion.

p. 202.

A TIME OF DARKNESS.

direct from Bread-street, hither. " And
now, do have some dinner, or, what will be
better for you, some tea."

" No, no, I can't eat ; we shall lose the
time; the Academy will be shut. Seppi ! I
must have a cab, and go there at once."

Archibald saw resistance would have been
vain and cruel, so he quietly suffered his
friend to step into the cab, and followed him.
All the long ride to Trafalgar-square, Cola
did not utter a single word, but sat mo-
tionless, with his picture in his arms.
IPKaye offered to hold it; but the other
rejected his aid with a slight motion of the
head. At last Cola relinquished the darling
first-fruits of his genius, with a look some-
thing like that of a mother parting from a
beloved child, and then sank fainting into
his friend's arms.

That night Cola Monti was in a brain-
fever.

CHAPTER XX.

JOY AT LAST.

The poor young artist lay ill for several
weeks. Indeed, during the whole of April,
he never awoke to a clear consciousness of
what was passing around him. His over-
tasked brain seemed to settle into a dull
torpor; he made no inquiries about his
picture, and appeared to have forgotten all
concerning it. Perhaps, in some respects,
this state of oblivion was fortunate, as it
saved him from that racking suspense which
would at any time have been torture to his
sensitive mind.

Cola was well-cared for during his ill-
ness ; how could it be otherwise, with Seppi

204

JOY AT LAST,

for nurse and servant, and Arcliy for a
friend ? They both watched over him with
unceasing affection, the former hardly taking
rest either night or day. At length the
poor invalid was able to be carried down
stairs in IPKaye's strong arms, Seppi
following after, bearing half-a-dozen un-
necessary pillows, and almost weeping with

joy.

It was a lovely evening, at the close of
April, and the little room, half-parlour half-
studio, looked very pleasant, China-roses
peeping in at the window, and between the
casts which adorned the mantelpiece, Seppi
had placed glasses full of spring flowers.
He had taken care, too, to arrange the
various legs, and arms, and torsi of plaster,
in what he considered excellent order, and
the long-disused easel was placed in one
corner.

Cola looked at it, then round the room,
and again at his beloved easel. He laid his
head, feeble as a child's, on Archy's shoulder,
and burst into tears.

205 8

JOY AT LAST.

After this evening, his strength returned
rapidljo He was very gentle and patient ;
did not express niuch anxiety about his
picture; indeed, he seldom spoke of it,
until the opening of the Exhibition. Then
he grew less calm, and asked Archibald,
not restlessly, but with a sort of child-like
longing, when he would let him try to get
as far as the Academy.

" I know you cannot go, Archy, now that
you stay so late at Bread-street. And,
indeed, I hardly hope or expect that the
picture will be in ; it would be more hap-
piness than I deserve ; I who made myself
ill so wickedly, and have given you and
poor Seppi so much care and trouble. But
still I should like to know."

" You shall know, dear Cola ; you shall
go as soon as ever you are well enough.
Be content till then." And with a gen-
tleness beautiful to see, Archy soothed his
friend, who looked up to him in everything
with patient dependence.

Two or three days after, M^Kaye entered,

206

JOY AT LAST.

Ms bright countenance looking brighter tlian
ever.

" I shall take yon a drive this morning,
Cola," he said, cheerfully. "Those ex-
cellent old souls at Bread-street have given
me a holiday, and we'll spend it in style.
I have a cab at the door, so make haste and
get ready. And Seppi need not muffle you
up quite so much as he does for those lazy
noon-day daunderings up the road; you
are getting stronger now, you know.'*

" How kind of you, Archy ; and to bring
a carriage too ! "

" Not quite so grand a one as Sir Archi-
bald M^'Kaye is to drive you in some of
these days. But we'll have a foretaste of
the pleasure now, so jump in.''

They drove round the parks, the fresh
May breeze bringing a faint colour to the
young artist's cheek. But when they en-
tered London streets and stopped at the
Academy, Cola grew pale, and trembled.
Archy, kind, considerate Archy, strange

207

JOY AT LAST.

to say, did not seem to mind liis agitation
in the least.

''Be a brave fellow, Cola, and hope for
the best ! " he whispered, with a cheerful
countenance, as he drew the feeble arm
through his, and led his friend on.

" Tell me, Archy, do you know "

murmured poor Cola.

" I won't tell you anything at all ; you
shall find it out for yourself," was the
smiling answer.

They entered one of the smaller rooms,
and there, hung in a very good light, — ^his
precious picture looked down upon the
bewildered Cola.

" You cut quite a dash among the minia-
tures ; and be very thankful that you are
kept out of the octagon-room — the Black
Hole that you used to talk so much about.
Well, are you not ready to get up and dance
a Highland reel ? — a tarantella, I mean. I
could, I assure you," cried Archy, trying in
his usual fashion to hide with a joke the

208

JOY AT LAST.

strong emotion under wliich Cola laboured,
and from which he himself was not free.

They found a seat, for the poor fellow
could neither stand nor speak. Thither, a
few minutes after, came the gliding step and
low voice of Mr. Crome, who was full of
praises and congratulations.

" I have some news also, perhaps better
than these empty encomiums," said the rich
court artist. " Allow me to introduce you
to a gentleman who will purchase your
picture, and commission a companion to it.
And though you are still a youth, let me
once more have the pleasure of prophesying,
that I know no artist more likely to rise to
eminence than my friend Nicolo Monti."

" What do you say to this, Cola ? " cried
Archibald, as they were again alone, driving
homewards.

Cola folded his hands together. " Thank
God ! thank God ! " was all he said.

The words consecrated — and will conse-
crate— his whole life.

209 8 8

CHAPTER XXL

THE STORY S END, BUT THE REAL LIFE S
BEGINNING.

I HAVE few words more to say, for Cola
Monti is still young, and it takes many
years of patient and laborious study of Art,
before the most talented youth can become
a great painter. But he is steadily fol-
lowing in the track which so many noble
men, perhaps the noblest on earth, have
trod before him.

He neglects no study that may perfect
his powers and render him truly great,
remembering that the culture of genius
should end but with life. You may still
see, drawing at the Museum, a slender,

210

THE STORY ENDS,

graceful young man, with a beautiful Italian
countenance. Look on his drawing-board,
and you will find his name — a name already
known in art, though he does not disdain to
let it rank among the humblest students, —
"Mcolo Monti." He has wisely dropped
the long word " Fiorcntiuo,'* as well as the
aristocratic del, thiuidng it nobler to be a
great artist than to count his descent from
Italian princes. But perhaps he may com-
promise the matter a little when he goes
to Rome next year, with the ever-faithful
Seppi.

If you were to fellow the young artist
home, you would find him in the same
pretty cottage, somewhere near Highgate.
It is all his own now, though ; for he is
prosperous in his circumstances, and proves,
rather to Mr. Crome's annoyance, that a
man may paint great historical pictures,
and not starve. Almost within sight of the
artists's pleasant home is that of the young
merchant, Archibald M^Kaye is rising fast
in the world, as he was sure to do; and

211

THE STORY ENDS.

amidst all his well-earned prosperity, he
carries in his bosom the same true Scottish
heart, beating calmly, silently, — but how
warmly, those whom he loves and who love
can tell ! — none better than Cola Monti.

The two friends did take the projected
Highland journey, — though not until last
year, — and the grand family group was then
really painted. Every one considered it a
great work; all but the artist, who was
never satisfied that he had done justice to
any of the heads, especially to sweet Jessie's.
It is a valuable and dear-loved picture now,
for the revered old father has been since
gathered to his fore-fathers. Archibald is
going to fetch his mother and sisters to live
with him at Highgate. But it is just
possible that this excellent domestic ar-
rangement may not hold out longer than
Cola's return from Rome.

And now let us leave them both — Archi-
bald and Cola, — leave them to work out the
bright future which is before each. They
will tread diverse paths, one walking calmly,

212

THE STORY ENDS,

nobly, and perseveringly, along the beaten
track of life ; the other pressing on toward
that high destiny which will make hina
famous in his day, and remembered after
death with that renown which so many
men are willing even to die for. Let them
go on their way, for each is greatly to be
honoured. One is the man of Industry;
the other the man of Genius.

THE END,

218

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