Their friendship lasted during the whole time that they were at school together; but at length, on the same vacation, Morrison was removed to take a clerk's place in the house of his father, a country attorney, and Charles Tyrrell was sent to Eton to undergo the needful discipline of a public school. They separated with a thousand boyish professions of friendship, and consoled themselves with the idea that the county town in which Morrison's father made his abode was only seven miles distant from the seat of Sir Francis Tyrrell, called Harbury Park, so that they could often meet during the holidays. They promised to do so continually. But such promises, made in the guileless days of youth, are rapidly forgotten. The grasp of our affection expands with the grasp of our intellects, and the little things that we loved in infancy and youth but too often slip away from us as our mind enlarges, like sand through the fingers of a giant. It remains to be inquired, in the present instance, which it was that forgot the other. It certainly was not Charles Tyrrell; for his first expedition on his midsummer return from Eton was to pay a visit to Everard Morrison: and again and again he walked or rode over to the county town to see his old companion. Morrison always received him gladly to all appearance; but, notwithstanding all the reiterated invitations of his schoolfellow, he never visited Harbury Park but once. He showed, in short, no disposition to cultivate the acquaintance that he had formed at school. Charles Tyrrell saw this, and was hurt, but he said nothing, and persevered for some time; but finding perseverance produced no effect, he gradually ceased to seek for Everard Morrison's closer friendship. But his peculiar tenacity of regard displayed itself in this instance also. Although he was hurt and offended, he gave way to no anger; he loved Everard Morrison still, and he did not cease to love him, although he saw him but rarely, and then under some restraint. His life at Eton we shall not inquire into, for it was exactly the life of every person so situated, or with variations of no importance. Neither is there much to be told in the detached periods of his holiday residence at home; at least, not much which the reader may not divine without being told.