“We have capital walks on the Downs almost every day, which are very pleasant, and capital exercise, as we go a considerable distance; the other day we went nearly to the Dyke. Before seven [a.m.] we three have delightful readings together—we have nearly done Matthew; at seven we come down and read till breakfast, and after that till two; we then go out for our walk till dinner. . . . On Thursday we are to have our debate about the battle of Navarino, in which I am going to be exceedingly eloquent—only there is one great barrier to my eloquence, which is that I can think of nothing to speak about. Robert and Jack are going to attack the battle; and Ted, Abercorn, and I are going to defend it. I think they have got much the best side.” This extract, written in a boyish hand, is dated February 19th, 1828. The next, on October 4th in the same year, is remarkable for its transition into the formed hand of the young man, and its resemblance to the writing of all his later years. He was then sixteen. The letter is full of manly thoughts, kind sympathy for some relatives in trouble, great thankfulness to God for restoring him to health after an illness, and then the schoolboy reappears towards the close as he longs for a share in the partridge-shooting which his father and elder brothers were enjoying at that time, and “the plumcake after church, and then the walk on the lighthouse hills” at Cromer, concerning which he winds up by saying: “I do not know two things that live so pleasantly in my mind. How far superior to all the strutting finery of Brighton!” The letters written during his residence in Brighton show that Mr. Elliott, besides being a very kind tutor, had the gift of inspiring his pupils with great diligence and love for their work. The year 1830 was the last spent under his roof, and they testify to a great deal of hard reading, with the University constantly in view. At the end of a letter dated “Brighton, September 20th, 1830,” young Hoare writes:—