CHAPTER XIV
CONCLUSION
"And hath that early hope been blessed with truth?
Hath he fulfilled the promise of his youth?
And borne unscathed through danger's stormy field
Honor's white wreath and virtue's stainless shield?"
HARROW. A Prize Poem.
The other day I was staying with Montagu. He has succeeded to his
father's estate, and is the best-loved landlord for miles around. He
intends to stand for the county at the next general election, and I
haven't the shadow of a doubt that he will succeed. If he does,
Parliament will have gained a worthy addition. Montagu has the very soul
of honor, and he can set off the conclusions of his vigorous judgment,
and the treasures of his cultivated taste, with an eloquence that rises
to extraordinary grandeur when he is fulminating his scorn at any
species of tyranny or meanness.
It was very pleasant to talk with him about our old school days in his
charming home. We sate by the open window (which looks over his grounds,
and then across one of the richest plains in England) one long summer
evening, recalling all the vanished scenes and figures of the past,
until we almost felt ourselves boys again.
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