Great delicacy—great delicacy." But I thought
he seemed a little hurt notwithstanding. At the
hotel it was the same. "They will know me
there," my illustrious friend had said, "and we
shall be a little bothered with company, no doubt,
and not allowed to pay the bill, and so on."
Observing that apparently no one recognised us
at the hotel, I took an opportunity to mention
the name of his guest to the landlord. "Brogg,
sir; very good, sir," answered this gross man.
"James, put down the name of Brogg in the
hall-book in case of letters; and—George, have
you taken that sherry into eight?" I may also
add that when the time came we were allowed to
pay the bill.

My friend, to the best of my knowledge, never
set his foot in Brighton again.

But this is a digression. How far have we got
regularly? We have stated that C. J. Brogg
was born at Brighton, and that his ancestors
came over with the Conqueror. We have got
C. J. born at any rate, and that is a great deal.
As a child, I am in a condition to assert that he
was a heavy feeder and a hard sleeper, and that
he was slow "to take notice." Hear this, ye
who believe in prodigies, in infant phenomena, in
precocious talent! Brogg—C. J. Brogg—was
slow to take notice. "Bless his little heart,"
said the nurse on one occasion—and this I have,
mind, on the best authority—"he do take notice
uncommon slow, but when he have got hold of a
thing he seems to keep it tight like." And this,
the characteristic of the child, appeared pre-
eminently in the man afterwards. I do not say
that my revered friend was swift in his perception;
he was not. But once let him seize an
idea, or aught else, and it was his for ever. His
ideas were permanent, and no alterations of
condition subsequent to the period when his opinions
were formed ever produced the slightest change
in them. No, an opinion once formed, was
formed for ever.

This, again, is a digression, into which we have
been led by those words of C. J.'s nurse. It seems
to me probable that such digressions may occur
not unfrequently in the course of these pages.

The subject of our memoir was brought up at
home, and was one of the triumphant results of
private tuition. The plan adopted by his tutor
was, so to speak, conversational. His lessons,
given orally, naturally led to questions on the part
of the pupil, and these again to answers on the
part of the master. This gentleman used to
inform Mr. and Mrs. Brogg that these questions
put by their son were calculated to stagger all
ordinary intellects, by reason of their great depth,
and he added, moreover, that his pupil's reflective
nature sometimes almost frightened him, as he
would frequently ask a question relating to some
matter which had been under discussion a week
before, and had not been touched upon since, and
the learned man would add that these questions
were very frequently posers, and calculated to
throw doubt on certain historical and other
questions, which thoughtless persons have hitherto
taken too much for granted. The tutor frankly
admitted that the boy would have been too much
for anybody but himself, and on one occasion the
boy's mother overheard the learned man
complaining to himself—being of course unconscious
that the fond parent was within hearing—and
saying that "the boy was more than his match,
and that he (the tutor) was a fool to him."

To give an instance of this reflective power on
the part of Brogg—the boy—so wonderfully to
be developed afterwards in Brogg—the man—I
may mention that on a certain day his instructor
had spoken at great length and with considerable
fervour of the wisdom of proverbs, and how they
were the safest guides in the world, and in the
course of conversation had given many instances
of the truth of what he asserted, and shown how
many mistakes in the course of the world's
history might have been avoided, had those who
made the said mistakes paid attention to the
teaching of proverbs.

Very well. The Rev. Christopher Smear,
which was the tutor's name, held forth upon the
subject convincingly enough. He said that "there
was a silver lining to every cloud," and that "it
was a long lane that had no turning," and that
such thoughts as these ought to carry a man
through all difficulties which might come in his
way. He said that a "bird in the hand was worth
two in the bush," and that thus we learnt never
to abandon an advantage of which we felt secure
in the hope of attaining a greater one, even
concerning whose attainment we might be in doubt.
He added, that you could never test a friend until
you had tried him in your need, and he concluded
smilingly with a saying based upon economic
principles, and advised his young friend "always
to look after the pence, and the pounds would
take care of themselves." A week passed away,
and the attention of our youthful student was
solicited and given to all kinds of various themes,
and deeply did master and pupil plunge down
into the reservoirs of knowledge, when one day
the latter suddenly reverted to the subject of
proverbs. The inevitable week had passed away, and
the process of mental digestion was complete.

"You were talking the other day, Mr. Smear,"
the dear child remarked, "about proverbs. You
spoke in high terms of the wisdom contained in
them, and you stated that any one who was
guided by their dictates could hardly fail to go
right. May I ask if you still adhere to these
sentiments?"

"Undoubtedly I do," was the reply.

"Then, sir," inquired the youthful Brogg, "I
would ask, what is he to do who, having decided
that his manner of life shall be influenced alone
by the wisdom of proverbs, finds himself between
two of these, so to speak, finger-posts of wisdom,
pointing diametrically in opposite directions?"

"But no one could possibly find himself in
such a position," answered the learned Smear, a
little rashly.

"Pardon me, sir," replied the boy, respectfully.
"You told me the other day that I should 'take care