The pleasant morning wore away, and the time for the Speeches drew on. The room was thronged with a distinguished company, and presented a brilliant and animated appearance. In the centre was a table loaded with prize-books, and all round it sat the secular and episcopal dignitaries for whom seats had been reserved, while the chair was occupied by a young Prince of the royal house. On the other side was a slightly elevated platform, on which were seated the monitors who were to take part in the day's proceedings, and behind it, under the gallery set apart for old Hartonians, crowded a number of gentlemen and boys who could find no room elsewhere. "Now, papa," said a young lady sitting opposite the monitors, "I've been asking Walter here which is the cleverest of those boys." "Ahem! _young men_ you mean," interrupted her elder sister. "No, no," said Walter positively, "call them boys; to call them young men is all bosh; we shall have `young gentlemen' next, which is awful twaddle." "Well, which of those boys on the platform is the cleverest--the greatest swell _he_ calls it? Now you profess to be a physiognomist, papa, so just see if you can guess." "I'm to look out for some future Byron or Peel among them; eh, Walter?" "Yes." The old gentleman put on his spectacles, and deliberately looked round the row of monitors, who were awaiting the Headmaster's signal to begin the speeches. "Well, haven't you done yet, papa? What an age you are. Walter says you ought to tell at a glance." "Patience, my dear, patience. I'll tell you in a minute." "There," he said, after a moment's pause, "that boy seated last but one on the bench nearest us has more genius than any of them, I should say." He pointed to one of the youngest-looking of the monitors, who would also have been the most striking in personal appearance had not the almost hectic rose-colour of his cheeks, and the quiet shining of his blue eyes, under the soft hair that hung over his forehead, given a look of greater delicacy than was desirable in a boyish face. "Wrong, wrong, wrong," chuckled Walter and his sister. "Try again." "I'm very rarely wrong, you little rogue, in spite of you; but I'll look again. No, there can be no doubt about it. Several of those faces show talent, but one only has a look of genius, and that is the face of the boy I pointed out before. What is his name?" "Oh, that's Home. He's clever enough in his way, but the fellow you ought to have picked out is the monitor I fag for--Bruce, the head of the school." "Well, show me your hero." "There he sits, right in the middle of them, opposite us. There, that's he just going to speak now."