My Master’s Pupils. 179

 

those three always remained my favourite ones, and
justly.

“Master George was a tiny fellow then—too
small to be my pupil; but he drove into the town
now and then with his sisters on their open Irish
car, and would come into my room and gladden me
with his bright face and childish talk. An open-
hearted, confiding little fellow he always was ; the
very dogs about the town were all friends to him,
and he would horrify me by running open-armed to
caress any that he met. They never bit him,
though. One day, when the elections were going
on, he astounded us all by marching into the room,
with a stick, to which he had tied some rag or
other, held proudly over his shoulder, and shouting,
‘Death-chamber for ever! death-chamber for
ever!’ We were at a loss to imagine what this
ominous cry could mean, until someone suggested
that it must be the name of the favourite can-
didate, Denison, to which he had given so startling
a significance.”

Thus my dear master talked on until his kindly
purpose was fulfilled, and I had recovered myself
sufficiently to smiie, and ask questions, and behave
like a reasonable being again.

“You have told me,” I ventured to say, “about
the piano and violin ; have those two pictures any