The Professor

THE other day, in looking over my papers, I found in my desk the following copy of a letter, sentby me a year since to an old school acquaintance:-"DEAR CHARLES,"I think when you and I were at Eton together, we were neither of us what could be calledpopular characters: you were a sarcastic, observant, shrewd, cold-blooded creature; my own portraitI will not attempt to draw, but I cannot recollect that it was a strikingly attractive one-can you?What animal magnetism drew thee and me together I know not; certainly I never experiencedanything of the Pylades and Orestes sentiment for you, and I have reason to believe that you, onyour part, were equally free from all romantic regard to me.

Still, out of school hours we walked andtalked continually together; when the theme of conversation was our companions or our masters weunderstood each other, and when I recurred to some sentiment of affection, some vague love of anexcellent or beautiful object, whether in animate or inanimate nature, your sardonic coldness did notmove me.

I felt myself superior to that check THEN as I do NOW.