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But two words certainly had a most stimulating effect upon the listener. They were uttered by Boris and they were: "Mr. Brown." Whittington seemed to remonstrate with him, but he merely laughed. "Why not, my friend? It is a name most respectable most common. Did he not choose it for that reason? Ah, I should like to meet him Mr. Brown."

These had only to pay for their clothing and books, while all others had to pay their entire expenses, including tuition. Early in November, Profs. Smith, Yallas, St. Ange, and I, met a committee of the Board of Supervisors, composed of T. C. Manning, G. Mason Graham, and W. W. Whittington, at General Graham's house, and resolved to open the institution to pupils on the 1st day of January, 1860.

He could see with half an eye that a great change had come over the boy during the summer; he had grown quieter, stronger, far more manly. Yes, Percy had stuck. John Whittington had only half believed that he could or would; and he had spent a good many valuable hours worrying over what he should do with his son if he didn't stick.

These had only to pay for their clothing and books, while all others had to pay their entire expenses, including tuition. Early in November, Profs. Smith, Yallas, St. Ange, and I, met a committee of the Board of Supervisors, composed of T. C. Manning, G. Mason Graham, and W. W. Whittington, at General Graham's house, and resolved to open the institution to pupils on the 1st day of January, 1860.

To begin with, the streets of London are not paved with gold; but I need not have said that, for nowadays the very youngest child knows it. It was Dick Whittington who first imagined anything so foolish; but then he was only a country lad, and in his days there were not the same opportunities for finding out the truth about things as there are now.

His thoughts turned back to the home he had left, where he had at least plenty to eat, and, although the "authentic reports" use a great many words to tell us so, the boy was homesick. Just then the sound of Bow Bells reached him, and to his youthful fancy seemed to call him back: "Return, return, Whittington; Thrice Lord Mayor of London." Thus the old tale hath it.

He wrote the truth about Harry Whittington; for Wogan was looking over his shoulder. "Did he pay you to keep silence as to his share in the business?" asked Wogan, as the man scattered some sand over the paper. "There is no word of it in your handwriting." The man added a sentence and a figure. "That will do," said Wogan.

When country boys think of the City of London they still think of Whittington. Perhaps you are afraid that the preparation, the reading, for such a walk about the City would be dull. I have never found it so. I do not think that anyone who has the least love for, or knowledge of, old things would find such reading dull.

Somewhat out of sorts the Duke of Connecticut set off abruptly through the trees with the dog at his heels. Having climbed over log and boulder to a road which cleft the mountain, he kept on to the north, descending again presently to the level of the camp, smoking abstractedly and whistling now and then for Richard Whittington, who was prone to ramble.

It was when the virgin martyrs began defiantly to practice purity that they rent them with wild beasts, and rolled them on red-hot coals. The world had always loved the notion of the poor man uppermost; it can be proved by every legend from Cinderella to Whittington, by every poem from the Magnificat to the Marseillaise.