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blue waist of my dear divinity. For some days afterwards, I am
lost in rapturous reflections; but I neither see her in the street,
nor when I call. I am imperfectly consoled for this disappointment
by the sacred pledge, the perished flower.

'Trotwood,' says Agnes, one day after dinner. 'Who do you think is
going to be married tomorrow? Someone you admire.'

'Not you, I suppose, Agnes?'

'Not me!' raising her cheerful face from the music she is copying.
'Do you hear him, Papa? - The eldest Miss Larkins.'

'To - to Captain Bailey?' I have just enough power to ask.

'No; to no Captain. To Mr. Chestle, a hop-grower.'

I am terribly dejected for about a week or two. I take off my
ring, I wear my worst clothes, I use no bear's grease, and I
frequently lament over the late Miss Larkins's faded flower.
Being, by that time, rather tired of this kind of life, and having
received new provocation from the butcher, I throw the flower away,
go out with the butcher, and gloriously defeat him.

This, and the resumption of my ring, as well as of the bear's
grease in moderation, are the last marks I can discern, now, in my
progress to seventeen.


I am doubtful whether I was at heart glad or sorry, when my
school-days drew to an end, and the time came for my leaving Doctor
Strong's. I had been very happy there, I had a great attachment
for the Doctor, and I was eminent and distinguished in that little
world. For these reasons I was sorry to go; but for other reasons,
unsubstantial enough, I was glad. Misty ideas of being a young man
at my own disposal, of the importance attaching to a young man at
his own disposal, of the wonderful things to be seen and done by
that magnificent animal, and the wonderful effects he could not
fail to make upon society, lured me away. So powerful were these
visionary considerations in my boyish mind, that I seem, according
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