Julian Home   By: Frederic W. Farrar (1831-1903)

In this book Farrar, who for the first part of his career was a British Public School master and headmaster, writes of the lives of a group of clever young men during their three years studies at Camford University, (transparently Cambridge). Some of them work hard and do well, gaining College scholarships and fellowships, while others do little work and become enmeshed in gambling, drinking, and other still worse vices.

Some miserable tricks are played by the bad and idle men in attempts to bring down the good and hard working ones, most of which nearly end in disaster, but by various tricks of fortune a balance is in the end restored, and the book comes to a satisfactory conclusion.

You will enjoy this book if you do not let yourself be put off by Farrar's habit of inserting Greek, Latin, French and German tags just to show how very sap he is.

JULIAN HOME, BY DEAN FREDERICK FARRAR.

CHAPTER ONE.

SPEECH DAY AT HARTON.

"A little bench of heedless bishops there, And here a chancellor in embryo." Shenstone .

It was Speech day at Harton. From an early hour handsome equipages had been dashing down the street, and depositing their occupants at the masters' houses. The perpetual rolling of wheels distracted the attention every moment, and curiosity was keenly on the alert to catch a glimpse of the various magnates whose arrival was expected. At the Queen's Head stood a large array of carriages, and the streets were thronged with gay groups of pedestrians, and full of bustle and liveliness.

The visitors chiefly parents and relatives of the Harton boys occupied the morning in seeing the school and village, and it was a pretty sight to observe mothers and sisters as they wandered with delighted interest through the scenes so proudly pointed out to them by their young escort. Some of them were strolling over the cricket field, or through the pleasant path down to the bathing place. Many lingered in the beautiful chapel, on whose painted windows the sunlight streamed, making them flame like jewellery, and flinging their fair shadows of blue, and scarlet, and crimson, on the delicate carving of the pillars on either side. But, on the whole, the boys were most proud of showing their friends the old school room, on whose rude panels many a name may be deciphered, carved there by the boyish hand of poets, orators, and statesmen, who in the zenith of their fame still looked back with fond remembrance on the home of their earlier days, and some of whom were then testifying by their presence the undying interest which they took in their old school.

The pleasant morning wore away, and the time for the Speeches drew on. The room was thronged with a distinguished company, and presented a brilliant and animated appearance. In the centre was a table loaded with prize books, and all round it sat the secular and episcopal dignitaries for whom seats had been reserved, while the chair was occupied by a young Prince of the royal house. On the other side was a slightly elevated platform, on which were seated the monitors who were to take part in the day's proceedings, and behind it, under the gallery set apart for old Hartonians, crowded a number of gentlemen and boys who could find no room elsewhere.

"Now, papa," said a young lady sitting opposite the monitors, "I've been asking Walter here which is the cleverest of those boys."

"Ahem! young men you mean," interrupted her elder sister.

"No, no," said Walter positively, "call them boys; to call them young men is all bosh; we shall have `young gentlemen' next, which is awful twaddle."

"Well, which of those boys on the platform is the cleverest the greatest swell he calls it? Now you profess to be a physiognomist, papa, so just see if you can guess."

"I'm to look out for some future Byron or Peel among them; eh, Walter?"