“My Dear Sir,--It is with considerable pain that I feel it ny duty to urge upon you the propriety of resigning your position, as Mathematical and Classical Master, at the school of which I have the honour to be Principal. As regards talent and acquirements, I have never before had so able an assistant, but there are other qualities necessary in the onerous position of second-master of such a school as that over which I have, since its establishment, presided, which are equally important. In these qualities, the injudicious manner in which you this morning allowed, what I admit to have been an impulse of generous feeling, to hurry you into a breach of scholastic discipline, which a more hasty man than myself might have construed into a personal insult, proves you to be utterly wanting. It is to avoid the possibility of your again placing both yourself and me in such a false and difficult position, that I thus reluctantly press upon you the advisability of your immediate resignation. When a few more years shall have passed over your head, maturing your judgment, and tempering your impulsive disposition, I can conceive you will prove eminently qualified for the responsible, yet interesting office of an instructor to youth. In the meantime, I would advise your looking out for a curacy, or a situation as tutor to some young nobleman about to travel. I shall have much pleasure in giving you unexceptionable testimonials for such a purpose, or in furthering you. interest, to the extent of my power, in any other manner you may point out.--Awaiting your reply, “I remain, dear Sir, “Yours very faithfully, “John Hannibal Donkiestir, D.D.” “So that is my reward for my philanthropy, is it?” was Ernest Carrington’s mental comment as he finished perusing the Doctor’s letter. “Well, I daresay I did wrong to interfere, but I should hate myself if I could have sat by and watched the expression in that boy, Percy Colville’s, beautiful face, or listened to that poor little child’s heart-broken sobs, and not tried to help them--I’m glad I’ve saved the little fellow, at all events; no more teaching for me; I’d sooner go out as a missionary, and try to wash blackamore heathens into piebald Christians than that. Well, now for a curacy, hard labour, and genteel starvation on £80 a year; never mind, I shall be my own master, at all events, and may do some good amongst the poor people: no drudgery can be worse than this horse-in-a-mill life I have been leading of late. A letter from Sir Thomas Crawley. What can he want of me? I’ve no more birthrights to sell for a mess of pottage;” and with such hard, but not unnatural, thoughts running in his brain, he broke the seal, and read as follows--