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    George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore
    George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore
    George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore
    Ebook64 pages52 minutes

    George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore

    By R. D. (Richard Doddridge) Blackmore

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore

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      Book preview

      George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore - R. D. (Richard Doddridge) Blackmore

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris, by

      R. D. Blackmore

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: George Bowring - A Tale Of Cader Idris

      From Slain By The Doones By R. D. Blackmore

      Author: R. D. Blackmore

      Release Date: August 14, 2007 [EBook #22317]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GEORGE BOWRING ***

      Produced by David Widger

      GEORGE BOWRING

      A TALE OF CADER IDRIS

      By R. D. Blackmore

      From SLAIN BY THE DOONES by R. D. Blackmore

      Copyright: Dodd, Mead And Company, 1895

      Contents

      CHAPTER I.

      When I was a young man, and full of spirits, some forty years ago or more, I lost my best and truest friend in a very sad and mysterious way. The greater part of my life has been darkened by this heavy blow and loss, and the blame which I poured upon myself for my own share in the matter.

      George Bowring had been seven years with me at the fine old school of Shrewsbury, and trod on my heels from form to form so closely that, when I became at last the captain of the school, he was second to me. I was his elder by half a year, and sapped very hard, while he laboured little; so that it will be plain at a glance, although he never acknowledged it, that he was the better endowed of the two with natural ability. At that time we of Salop always expected to carry everything, so far as pure scholarship was concerned, at both the universities. But nowadays I am grieved to see that schools of quite a different stamp (such as Rugby and Harrow, and even Marlborough, and worse of all peddling Manchester) have been running our boys hard, and sometimes almost beating them. And how have they done it? Why, by purchasing masters of our prime rank and special style.

      George and myself were at one time likely, and pretty well relied upon, to keep up the fame of Sabrina's crown, and hold our own at Oxford. But suddenly it so fell out that both of us were cut short of classics, and flung into this unclassic world. In the course of our last half year at school and when we were both taking final polish to stand for Balliol scholarships, which we were almost sure to win, as all the examiners were Shrewsbury men,—not that they would be partial to us, but because we knew all their questions,—within a week, both George and I were forced to leave the dear old school, the grand old town, the lovely Severn, and everything but one another.

      He lost his father; I lost my uncle, a gentleman in Derbyshire, who had well provided my education; but, having a family of his own, could not be expected to leave me much. And he left me even less than could, from his own point of view, have been rational. It is true that he had seven children; but still a man of,£15,000 a year might have done, without injustice—or, I might say, with better justice—something more than to leave his nephew a sum which, after much pushing about into divers insecurities, fetched £72 10s. per annum.

      Nevertheless, I am truly grateful; though, perhaps, at the time I had not that knowledge of the world which enlarges the grateful organs. It cannot matter what my feelings were, and I never was mercenary. All my sentiments at that period ran in Greek senarii; and perhaps it would show how good and lofty boys were in that ancient time, though now they are only rude Solecists, if I were to set these verses down—but, after much consideration, I find it wiser to keep them in.

      George Bowring's father had some appointment well up in the Treasury. He seems to have been at some time knighted for finding a manuscript of great value that went in the end to the paper mills. How he did it, or what it was, or

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