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"I thank you for the proposal, Mr. Rivers, and I accept it with all my heart."

"But you comprehend me?" he said.

"It is a village school: your scholars will be only poor girls-cottagers' children-at the best, farmers' daughters.

Knitting, sewing, reading, writing, ciphering, will be all you will have to teach.

What will you do with your accomplishments? What, with the largest portion of your mind-sentiments-tastes?"

"Save them till they are wanted. They will keep."

"You know what you undertake, then?"

"I do."

He now smiled: and not a bitter or a sad smile, but one well pleased and deeply gratified.

"And when will you commence the exercise of your function?"

"I will go to my house to-morrow, and open the school, if you like, next week."

"Very well: so be it."

He rose and walked through the room. Standing still, he again looked at me. He shook his head.

"What do you disapprove of, Mr. Rivers?" I asked.

"You will not stay at Morton long: no, no!"

"Why? What is your reason for saying so?"

"I read it in your eye; it is not of that description which promises the maintenance of an even tenor in life."

"I am not ambitious."

He started at the word "ambitious." He repeated, "No. What made you think of ambition? Who is ambitious? I know I am: but how did you find it out?"

"I was speaking of myself."

"Well, if you are not ambitious, you are-" He paused.

"What?"

"I was going to say, impassioned: but perhaps you would have misunderstood the word, and been displeased.

I mean, that human affections and sympathies have a most powerful hold on you.

I am sure you cannot long be content to pass your leisure in solitude, and to devote your working hours to a monotonous labour wholly void of stimulus: any more than I can be content," he added, with emphasis, "to live here buried in morass, pent in with mountains-my nature, that God gave me, contravened; my faculties, heaven-bestowed, paralysed-made useless.

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