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 emotion and circumstance, and lie undoubtedly made the most of it. This education in the school of life was acquired as naturally as oxygen is acquired by breathing, and the process at first was unconscious or subconscious.

Hardy claimed to be entirely uninterested in the subject-matter which he indited; this was of course the only condition under which he could be entrusted with the precious and carefully guarded secrets of the correspondents, added to the fact that they probably considered him too young and guileless to apprehend fully the import of the glowing words he set down as they timorously whispered them into his ears. In this fond supposition they were most assuredly mistaken.

This activity again illustrates the lad's growing sympathy with the rustic heart, together with his growing critical appreciation of the machinery of the rustic mentality. Later on he beautifully capitalized these experiences of his. Reminiscential is Mother Cuxsom's remark in The Mayor of Casterbridge: "Love-letters? Then let's hear 'em, good soul . . . Lord, do ye mind, Richard, what fools we used to be when we were younger? Getting a schoolboy to write 'em for us; and giving him a penny, do ye mind, not to tell other folks what he'd put inside, do ye mind?"

A remnant of Hardy's actual memories of some of these epistles is preserved in a delicious bit, found in The Hand of Ethelberta. Tipman, Lord Mountclere's valet, is writing to Mrs. Menlove, his "intended": "His lordship impressed this upon me very strong, and familiar as a brother, and of course we obey his instructions to the letter; for I need hardly say that unless he