which was doubtful, or his honesty, which was entirely negative; and so amongst any assemblage of young gentlemen now in the nineteenth century, the quality which excites most admiration seems to be a certain combination of activity and recklessness, which they call _hardness_. “Was Rakes in time for parade?”--“Oh yes, he drank four bottles of claret, and never went to bed--he’s a deuced _hard_ fellow, Rakes” (applause). “Was Captain Cropper hurt when he tumbled over that gate and broke his horse’s neck?”--“Hurt? not he; you won’t often see _him_ hurt--there are not many fellows so _hard_ as Cropper” (great applause); and thus it seems that the brain is chiefly honoured according to its capacity, not of reasoning, but of cellarage--and the head only becomes the noblest portion of the human frame when it may be fallen on with impunity. Tell these “physical force” gentlemen of a “clever horse,” and every ear is erect in motionless attention--talk to them of a clever man, their shoulders are elevated in pity--of a clever woman, their mouths are drawn down in disgust. But Frank Hardingstone was, to use their favourite word, “a great card” amongst all the associates of his age and standing. Square and muscular, with temper, courage, and address, he could walk, run, leap, ride, fence, play cricket, box, and swim with the best of them, and they never suspected that this powerful frame contained a mind capable and energetic as the casket in which it was concealed. Frank was a well-informed, well-judging man--loved mathematics, logic, and such strong intellectual food--enjoyed working out a sum or problem, or otherwise exercising his powerful mind, and would go to an iron foundry, or to see a ship built, or even to the Polytechnic, for sheer amusement. Had he been born to work for his livelihood, he would have made a capital engineer; as it was, he ought to have been in the navy, or the artillery, or anything but an idle man, living at his own place in the country. He had no relations, consequently nothing to keep him at home; people said that when alone he had no established dinner-hour--a grievous sin in our gastronomic age: he was too energetic to care very much for farming, although he did _occupy_ certain acres of his own land; and too practical to be enthusiastic about field-sports, though he was a good shot, and rode right well to hounds. Altogether, Frank was out of his place in the world; and, not having arrived at that age when, if a man don’t fit his destiny, he makes his destiny fit _him_, was in danger of becoming bored and careless, and a useless member of society. Luckily, Cousin Charlie’s private tutor, Mr. Nobottle, held his cure close to Hardingstone Hall, and leave to course over certain grounds thereunto belonging being applied for and granted, an introduction took place between the squire and the clergyman’s volatile pupil, which struck up an immediate alliance of obliger and obliged.