"I lost my mother early; my father--a good man, but who was so indolent that he rarely stirred from his chair, and who often passed whole days without speaking, like an Indian dervish--left Roland and myself to educate ourselves much according to our own tastes. Roland shot and hunted and fished, read all the poetry and books of chivalry to be found in my father's collection, which was rich in such matters, and made a great many copies of the old pedigree,--the only thing in which my father ever evinced much vital interest. Early in life I conceived a passion for graver studios, and by good luck I found a tutor in Mr. Tibbets, who, but for his modesty, Kitty, would have rivalled Porson. He was a second Budaeus for industry,--and, by the way, he said exactly the same thing that Budmus did, namely, 'That the only lost day in his life was that in which he was married; for on that day he had only had six hours for reading'! Under such a master I could not fail to be a scholar. I came from the university with such distinction as led me to look sanguinely on my career in the world. "I returned to my father's quiet rectory to pause and consider what path I should take to faire. The rectory was just at the foot of the hill, on the brow of which were the ruins of the castle Roland has since purchased. And though I did not feel for the ruins the same romantic veneration as my dear brother (for my day-dreams were more colored by classic than feudal recollections), I yet loved to climb the hill, book in hand, and built my castles in the air midst the wrecks of that which time had shattered on the earth.