Six years have now glided away, and my station as an Etonian has
experienced a still greater revolution. In place of being a fag, I was
now the puissant "captain of my dames," and had six lower boys of my
own; but my greatest privilege consisted in being the possessor of
rather more than three thousand "old copies."
These are the original copies of verses on various subjects which have
borne the correction of their authors' tutors, and which have been
reserved and put by, after a fair copy of them has been shown up in
school.
The collection now in my possession had been, for years, entailed by
its founder upon the captain of my dames, whoever he might be, for the
time being. These, then, I enjoyed for four years, and a subject could
not well be given us, but I possessed it already composed on. True, I
was once at a loss, when we had to produce verses on the death of
George III.; but several copies, simply on death, with a dash here and
there of my own put in to suit the present occasion, sufficiently
answered the purpose, at the cost of but very little literary labour.
One boy, I remember, actually had two old copies on the death of
George II., of such respectable antiquity was his collection of MSS.
In addition to this inestimable treasure, I had become, by this time,
flogged into the school routine of business, and could now, with ease,
perform the requisite and daily tasks, no longer laying in any claim
to the designation of a shuffler, at least to the eyes of the vulgar.
My four remaining years then, at Eton, formed, indeed, a dream of
happiness.
When not otherwise particularly engaged, it was my delight, on the
instant of coming out of school, or church, to fix my eyes on some
distant object, and to start off for it, merely, I suppose, because it
was out of bounds. Being constantly in the habit of this, I became
acquainted with the localities of the neighbourhood, perhaps more
accurately than any other boy at Eton. The two most distant points I
ever reached, were Staines and the race-course at Ascot Heath. These
excursions I ever undertook in solitude.
It was singular, that one of the most prominent features in the
surrounding country should have been nearly the last I attained. This
was the spot which must have attracted, one time or another, the
attention of every boy: it is that beautiful hill of St. Leonards.
Perhaps the reason that I attained it so late, was, that in these
rambles, I preferred crossing the country as the crow flew, and in the
present instance, therefore, I must have crossed through the Thames,
and it was a long while ere I could prevail upon myself to pass by
such a circuitous route as Windsor and the Life Guards' barracks, for
an object otherwise comparatively close to me.
About this time, then, I started for and reached it. From that day, I
have always thought, that were it in my power to choose a region
wherein to spend my days, this should be it. It is the only spot I
have yet chanced upon, which, when viewed from the distance, with its
details filled up in the imagination, delightfully fulfils and
gratifies it to the utmost. What view can be more heavenly, than when
we look through and over the tops of the stag-headed oaks, along the
valley spread out beneath us, with the Thames winding and glistening
in the sun, and the noble castle of Windsor in the horizon, proudly
rearing itself into the sky?
Notwithstanding this scene, I had been rather earnestly observing a
distant but very lady-like figure walking across the grass, by the
side of some rails, and I felt somewhat disappointed, and
dissatisfied, when, at length, it vanished among the trees. I was now
resting myself at the foot of one, and deeply engrossed in the
desultory wanderings of a beetle on the ground, between my feet. I am
not conscious how long a time I might have been thus amusing myself,
when I was roused by an indistinct rustle close to me, and, on looking
up, I saw before me the lady-like figure. In the surprise of the
moment, I was possessed with a vague consciousness of some former
acquaintance, and in the first impulse, my hand nearly reached my hat,
but, in doubt, I withheld it.
She, too, seemed to be in the like predicament, bending slightly with
the neck, and I even fancied that her lips moved. The next moment, she
had passed on, and I became sensible of the presence of "my little
Frogmore girl!"
Could I have the presumption to renew, at this moment, such a brief
and casual interview, and so long ago, too? What was I to do! Had she
given me a slight token of recognition, or had she not?
At this moment, I am astonished at my determination. In a desperate
state of agitation, yet without a chance of wavering, I now rose, and
walked along the avenue to overtake her, as she was turning down
another to the right. On gaining the corner, I found her a few yards
in advance, seated on a bench with several other persons. I at once
kept directly down the first avenue without passing her.
Here, at last, then, had I once more met with Miss Curzon! Yet how was
she altered! She was now about sixteen, and considerably above the
common height of women, and her figure possessed an air of far greater
slenderness than when I first met her. Then, too, her hair, which was
mostly concealed, was light--now she wore a profusion of it, of a dark
and glossy brown. She was in deep mourning.
Every day did I direct my steps to this hallowed spot, but in vain.
She had been on a visit, I suppose, and had now left the
neighbourhood. But, to my imagination, she was ever present, the last
vision at night, and the first in the morning, but I never could dream
about her.