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 wild restlessness, was so gentle, that I knew him like a brother in a few weeks. His gentleness was natural to him, and would have shown itself, abundantly, even without Ada′s influence ; but, with it, he became one of the most winning of companions, always so ready to be interested, and always so happy, sanguine, and light-hearted. I am sure that I, sitting with them, and walking with them, and talking with them, and noticing from day to day how they went on, falling deeper and deeper in love, and saying nothing about it, and each shyly thinking that this love was the greatest of secrets, perhaps not yet suspected even by the other—I am sure that I was scarcely less enchanted than they were, and scarcely less pleased with the pretty dream.

We were going on in this way, when one morning at breakfast Mr. Jarndyce received a letter, and looking at the superscription said, “From Boythorn? Aye, aye!” and opened and read it with evident pleasure, announcing to us, in a parenthesis, when he was about half-way through, that Boythorn was “coming down” on a visit. Now, who was Boythorn ? we all thought. And I dare say we all thought, too—I am sure I did, for one—would Boythorn at all interfere with what was going forward ?

“I went to school with this fellow, Lawrence Boythorn,” said Mr. Jarndyce, tapping the letter as he laid it on the table, “more than five-and-forty years ago. He was then the most impetuous boy in the world, and he is now the most impetuous man. He was then the loudest boy in the world, and he is now the loudest man. He was then the heartiest and sturdiest boy in the world, and he is now the heartiest and sturdiest man. He is a tremendous fellow.”

“In stature, sir ?” asked Richard.

“Pretty well, Rick, in that respect,” said Mr. Jarndyce ; “being some ten years older than I, and a couple of inches taller, with his head thrown back like an old soldier, his stalwart chest squared, his hands like a clean blacksmith′s, and his lungs !—there′s no simile for his lungs. Talking, laughing, or snoring, they make the beams of the house shake.”

As Mr. Jarndyce sat enjoying the image of his friend Boythorn, we observed the favorable omen that there was not the least indication of any change in the wind.

“But it′s the inside of the man, the warm heart of the man, the passion of the man, the fresh blood of the man. Rick—and Ada, and little Cobweb too, for you are all interested in a visitor !—that I speak of,” he pursued. “His language is as sounding as his voice. He is always in extremes ; perpetually in the superlative degree. In his condemnation he is all ferocity. You might suppose him to be an Ogre, from what he says ; and I believe he has the reputation of one with some people. There ! I tell you no more of him beforehand. You must not be surprised to see him take me under his protection ; for he has never forgotten that I was a low boy at school, and that our friendship began in his knocking two of my head tyrant′s teeth out (he says six) before breakfast. Boythorn and his man,” to me, “will be here this afternoon, my dear.”

I took care that the necessaiy preparations were made for Mr. Boythorn′s reception, and we looked forward to his arrival with some curiosity. The afternoon wore away, however, and he did not appear. The dinner-hour arrived, and still he did not appear. The dinner was