myself unless there's a war on. I've heard my father say often that
it's a very reliable paper, and so it is, for I've tried it for two
years now. So if I left a will telling just how the twenty thousand
ought to be invested, it would open my father's eyes more than ever."

"My dear sir," said I, "don't be in a hurry. Serve out your time among
the barbarians at school, and I'll promise you in time your father's
respectful astonishment."


These were my two boys; and you may wonder why I always think of them
together. I do, though: and, what is more, I find that together they
help to explain to me my country's greatness.



THE SENIOR FELLOW.


There is at Oxford a small college, with a small bursar's garden that in
spring is ablaze with laburnum and scented with lilac; and in the old
wall of this garden, just beneath the largest laburnum-tree, you may
still find a stone with this inscription: "_Jesus have mercy on Miles
Tonken, Fellow. Anno 1545._"

This college, in the days when I knew it, had three marks of
distinction:--It turned out, on hunting mornings, more "pinks" for its
size than any other in Oxford; its boat was head of the river; and its
Senior Fellow was the Rev. Theobald Pumfrey, who knew more of Athenaeus
than any man in the world. He seldom lectured; but day by day, year