a crow flying at a distance; but dull and heavy was their progress, when, once more looking at the snail, it was actually within an inch of the edge of the table. Afraid that it should make another stop, he blew gently on it, when the provoking creature drew in its horns for such a long time that he thought it would not put them out again. He was now absolutely ill-tempered, and thought he was being very ill used. Once more the snail was near the table-edge, and George was in a shiver lest he should go back again, when, as it dragged the last part of his tail from the top of the table, his father entered with his watch in his hand, saying it was just four o'clock, and that he would give him a model, made by a sailor who was waiting in the kitchen, of a man-of-war, valued at seven shillings, if he would dig over the piece of ground he would mark out in another hour. And now the hour-glass was turned that there might be no error as to time. In another minute George's coat was off, and his spade in his hand. He was almost frightened at first by the extent of the ground; but what a long time he had found an hour to be, and how much better was it to dig that to keep looking at that tormenting snail! Then he thought of the vessel, beautifully painted, with its masts, and sails, and rigging, and he fancied he saw it already floating gallantly across the pond. Digging as fast as he could, George thought all around him was in a bustle. A rattle placed in a tree to frighten the birds went round unusually fast-the clouds were blown by the winds swiftly along the skies -the swallows darted over his head-a postchaise dashed along the road as though the horses were in full gallop, and the man who came to the gate with his fiddle annoyingly played in double-quick time. But now, alas! the sailor was going, for Mr. Mogridge declined to purchase his ship. George thought he had not yet worked half an hour; his father took him to the sun-dial, and it was five o'clock. As if this could be in error, he ran to the hour-glass; but the last grain of sand had run out, and when he looked at the clock at the head of the stairs, it was striking the time with all its might. Long afterwards he said, "If I live these hundred years, I shall not forget my astonishment and disappointment. The lesson impressed on my mind was impressed there for ever: nor have I since required anything to remind me that, however slowly time may move with those who have nothing to do, it runs rapidly enough with all who are fully employed." Of the effect of that lesson, in a solemn conviction of the value of time, and in an industry absolutely indefatigable, we shall have hereafter ample proof. In due time George returned to school; and it will now be desirable to glance at the incidents which displayed his true character, or had a special influence upon him during his continued residence at Boarcote, only interrupted by the usual vacations. George had early become acquainted with whatever was to be seen about and around Boarcote. It was now the time of the quick foot, the sparkling eye, the bounding pulse, and the lively heart. The bulrush in the hand and the oakballs in the hat afforded him more pleasure than many a bag of gold does its possessor. Among his chosen haunts were the sunny slope, the verdant valley, the green lane, the shady wood, and the brook side. His were the chestnut-tree of the park, the bramble of the common, the violet of the bank, the primrose of the coppice, the cowslip of the meadow, the daffodil dancing in the gusty breeze, as well as the purple foxglove, the yellow broom, and the gorgeous lily, beautifying the dark waters of the old moat. Here he gathered the sloe in the hedge, there he plucked the blackberries from the brambles, and from the meadow the fresh-sprung mushroom was, in autumn, his prize. Often did he traverse the wooden bridge that bestrode the brook, especially as it was crossed every Sabbath to the village church. In the red sandstone rock, from whose earthy covering a prickly-pear and a crab-tree used to spring forth, and through whose very substance the road was made, he, like his companions, cut the initials of his name. At the little spring just by he often drank a soothing draught. Not far off was the village green, from which arose an old ash-tree. The clear waters of Pike Pond were often visited, covered with broad leaves, and with fish, rats, moor-hens, and wild ducks hiding under its banks. There, too, is Ridge Hill, and Wood Pool, the favourite bathing place, while in the immediate neighbourhood are the far-famed Malvern Hills. George had a special interest, too, in all living things: the gay butterfly, in its saunterings from flower to flower; the cuckoo, all concealed, sending forth its simple note, gradually shortened as the season advances; the throstle in the brake, the blackbird in the narrow lane, the lark at "heaven's gate," the brightly-feathered kingfisher by the brook side, the rook, the crow, and the hawk sailing high in the air, and the heron flapping his heavy wings. In a large tree, by a shed, near the school, two ravens used to build their nest; and often did he listen with awe, at eventide, to their hoarse croak. But everywhere, and for every object, his eye was open and acute, and his ear attentive to every sound. Conscious of growing strength, he delighted in its frequent exercise. Near the school, for instance, grew an ash-tree, whose stem was so thick and smooth, and which had, at the height of about twelve feet from the ground, such a provoking knob, that no boy could climb it. It was tried day after day, but all that could be done was to reach the knob, and then to slide down. One halfholiday the failure had occurred again and again, when Radnor, the biggest boy, throwing off his coat, cried, "See what a man can do!" and began the ascent; but he only reached the knob, and, though he struggled till he was well nigh exhausted, he came down mortified and distressed. All the rest were now deciding to give up the trial, when George advanced, pulled off his jacket, passed the knob, and reached the top, to the astonishment of his schoolfellows and to his own delight. He was not, however, surprised at his success, for alone he had been preparing for the feat by many a triumph over difficulty, and he did not publicly undertake the task until he was sure he could accomplish it. Old Norbury, the blacksmith, with his dirty leathern apron and grimy face, had been one of the spectators. As he saw one boy fail after another, he could not help saying, "You are fine fellows, but if you do not better with your books than you do now you will never be conjurors." But, when he was slinking away, after George's triumph, he exclaimed, "Take my word for it, that lad, whatever he sets about, will always be at the top of the tree." His feats of this kind obtained for him the name of "the squirrel," whilst his fleetness of foot led to his being called by his schoolfellows "the greyhound." Wordsworth says :— "Oh, many a time have I, a five years' child, |