During this my third half-year I had been steadily working in academy, and every night when in bed, and when the room was quiet and dark, I used to think over and try to work out various problems that I had done daring the day. I found that by concentrating my thoughts on these subjects I impressed them on my mind, and on the following morning could work them out very easily on paper. I found that by this means I could do many problems that had formerly seemed so complicated, that I had failed over and over again, and I hoped that I should find the benefit of this process by-and-by.

Woodville more than once had told me that I ought to work hard, as this was my last chance for my probationary; but he was not aware that when he was asleep I was training my brain to think, which, after all, is the great object of all learning or teaching.

In our public schools and colleges we give too much attention to what is called “learning” different subjects, this “learning” being, in the majority of cases, merely cramming our minds with the facts discovered and the conclusions arrived at by those who have preceded us, and who have written what they knew. We rarely endeavour even to so cultivate the mind as to make it competent to judge of the merits of a novelty, for this calls for a mental exertion that few persons ever attempt. It is far easier to accept what is submitted to us without question than it is to investigate and think out a case which no one has previously thought out, and on which consequently we have no guide which we can follow.

The system of cramming for examinations which was prevalent in former times, and has become even more common in the present day, is, we believe, far more detrimental to the mind than it is beneficial. Also we believe that calm reasoning is not certain to be brought out by such examinations as are usually given to students, so that, after all, the power of intellect is, we believe, not likely to be accurately tested by a mere examination.

I stood last but one in my batch – a fact due to my having done so very badly in mathematics and geometry at the last two examinations. In drawing I was very good, but this subject counted very little compared to the two in which I was very bad, so that what I needed was more knowledge of mathematics.

Time passed on very rapidly and very pleasantly. Now that Snipson had left the Academy I had no one ever to fag for or to fear; and it seemed that his departure had been the signal for the commencement of a better tone among the cadets. There was, I heard from the last-joined, less bullying than there had been whilst Snipson was present, and altogether his departure was hailed with pleasure. The examinations commenced, and I screwed myself up to the mark to see whether I was to pass my probationary and remain at the Academy, or be sent away to seek some other career in life.

We had three days for our examination in mathematics and geometry, and I was most careful over my work, reading over my questions deliberately and slowly, and thinking them out before putting pen to paper. As I sat for some time with my eyes shut, trying to recall a somewhat lengthy formula in trigonometry, the examiner saw me, and, supposing I was asleep, called out, “Mr Shepard, you had better wake up and attend to your paper; you cannot afford to sleep!”

I was not much pleased at this remark, for there is always in the mind of all those who are examined an impression that examiners may be prejudiced, and may not allot marks fairly. Such an idea is a very pleasant one to those who fail at an examination, and who thus satisfy their vanity by trying to believe that they deserved well, but were marked badly because the examiner was unfair. I fancied that, because I was supposed to be asleep, especial sharpness would be used in marking me – an idea I have since had reason to know was utterly erroneous, for the Academy was, of all places, the most rigid as regards the fairness with which marks were allotted, and the greatest impartiality was shown by those in whose hands the marking was left.

After each examination-attendance, I looked over the paper out of academy, and compared my answers and working with the book, and I came to the conclusion that I had done remarkably well, and therefore hoped I should be safe to get a satisfactory return for my probationary.

I waited with the greatest anxiety for the result of the examination to be made known, and could scarcely sleep at night for thinking what I should say at home in case I were span. It would, I knew, annoy my father very much, and I should be considered very stupid by probably far more stupid people than I was.

At length the morning came when the result of our mathematical examination was to be made known, and I went into academy with a feeling of dogged determination not to show any sign, no matter what the result might be. I fancied that the result would be satisfactory, as far as I was concerned, because, had it been unfavourable, I should have been sent for to the Inspector’s office, and told to pack up and be off.

We all took our seats and were ready with pencil and paper to copy off the marks as they were read out. The names of the cadets were read out in the order in which they had passed, so that as each name came the excitement as to who would be the next was very great. I was thirty-eighth in the class, out of thirty-nine, but I hoped I should take some places and probably reach to about twenty-fifth of the class, and next half (if I remained at the Academy) I hoped to get on better. As the examiner read out the first name there was no surprise; the cadet who was first was a very good mathematician, who at sixteen had joined the Academy, knowing trigonometry, mechanics, projectiles, and the calculus; he had been pushed on in consequence of his knowledge, and we knew he was almost certain to be first. The second, third, fourth, and fifth cadets were also very good mathematicians, and were known to be tolerably certain of standing high. When the examiner said “Sixth,” he waited for some seconds, whilst we listened attentively, and he then repeated “Sixth, Mr Shepard – 235 marks, decimal 87.”

At this announcement all the cadets looked round at me with surprise; it was almost assumed that, judging from my former examinations, I should have great difficulty in passing at all, that is in getting half-marks; when, then, I suddenly shot out from last but one to sixth, and gained so high a decimal as 87, it was like an outsider almost winning the Derby.

There were one or two surprises and several disappointments as the result of the examination was read out, and some cadets did not hesitate to proclaim that it was “a chowse.”

I was quite satisfied, and was glad to find that I had not overrated what I had done at the examination. I little suspected then that my success was likely to place me in a very unpleasant position, which was, perhaps, due in a measure to another cause which I must here relate.

It happened that, during the half-year, I was one morning in study when a cadet in the first row, who used to be generally up to some trick, called my name during the time the corporal on duty was absent. I looked up from my drawing and immediately a ball of bread, made out of the crumb of a roll, was thrown at me. I caught the ball and instantly threw it back, but just as the ball was leaving my hand the door opened and the Inspector appeared. The cadet at whom I had thrown the ball failed to catch it, and the ball struck the door within a foot of the Inspector’s head.

I was immediately placed in arrest, and the next day was taken before the Governor charged with throwing a ball at the Inspector. Luckily the cadet who had thrown the ball to me was available as evidence, and our defence was that we had used the bread to clean our drawings, and had thrown it to one another instead of carrying it from one part of the class-room to another. This defence cleared me in the Governor’s mind from the charge of throwing at the Inspector, but I got seven days’ arrest for creating a disturbance in academy.

The fact of my having suddenly come out as a good mathematician, when hitherto I had shown only as a muff, was a surprise to every one, even to the master himself; but I was completely taken aback when I was sent for to the Inspector’s office, and told that there was a strong suspicion against me of having fudged at my examination.

I indignantly denied the charge, and said that in consequence of its being my probationary examination I had worked very hard to pass, and had quite expected to get a good decimal.

“We have already ascertained,” said the Inspector, “that you have not worked in your room, you rarely studied out of academy, and the examiner found you asleep during examination, so that it seems impossible you could by fair means obtain .8, which you have done.”

“It is very hard on me,” I replied, “to be accused of fudging, when I give you my word of honour I have not fudged, merely because I have done well.”

“We will give you the benefit of the doubt, Mr Shepard,” said the Inspector, with anything but a pleasant manner, and I left his office feeling that in his own mind he was confirmed I had fudged – the how or the means by which I had done so alone preventing him from proceeding with his charge.

Among the cadets of my class I was considered a martyr, for they accounted for my success by attributing it to “luck in the questions.” To me, however, the result was most important. First, it rendered my position at the Academy secure; and, secondly, it showed me that the system I had adopted for gaining a knowledge of mathematics and geometry was a sound one, and that I had a sort of key for the cultivation of the intellect. I now looked forward to my Academy career with hope and pleasure, and a feeling of ambition came upon me which is, perhaps, one of the greatest incentives to work that can be given to a young man.

When I joined the Academy I was a boy and felt like a boy, but the rough handling that I had gone through, and the experience I had gained during the eighteen months I had been at the Academy, had aged me beyond my years. I had also grown considerably, and looked older than I was, several persons putting me down as eighteen or nineteen years old, whereas I was not much past seventeen.

I returned home from the Academy for my vacation with much pleasure. I looked forward to the quiet rambles in the forest, the collecting specimens of natural history, and the general peaceful nature of the life there, as a pleasant change after Woolwich. I also felt some pride in going home after so successful an examination, for it was successful even for the Academy. I thought of the satisfaction I should have in meeting Howard and in telling him of the past half-year’s events. I plotted many amusements for the vacation, but determined to devote a certain amount of time to mathematics and gaining some knowledge of the subjects I should have to study next half.

I was beginning conic sections in the third half-year, and this subject I found was one that I could manage very well by thinking quietly over. I could, in imagination, make my section of the cone and get my co-ordinates very easily without pencil or paper; and more than once I hit off laws that I imagined at first were real discoveries, but I soon found out other men had long since discovered them. This fact, however, showed me that I was on the right road, and that the training of my mind must be going on satisfactorily.

Of all the schemes that I had proposed to carry out during the half-year not one had led in the least to prepare me for an event which for a considerable time produced much effect upon me.

I was much given to long rambles in the forest, and would often take a seat in some retired glen and dream the idle hours away. As I was sitting thus one day I heard some voices near me – one that of a female. I jumped up, surprised at so unusual a sound, for I was out of the regular beat of picnics, and then heard an altercation going on, evidently between a female and an unruly boy. Moving through the furze outside the glade I came suddenly on a young lady, who was trying to pull back a boy of about ten years old. The young lady was fair, and of middle height, and to me seemed quite lovely. She was dressed in a light summer dress, a straw hat, with a wreath of natural ivy round it, and a light-blue scarf. As I came near she said, “Walter, you stupid boy, I know it’s a viper, and it will sting you to death!”

“You donkey!” replied the youth, as he struggled to get free, “it’s only a common snake, and I want it to take to school next half.”

These remarks fully explained to me the cause of the dispute between the youth and the lady; and as the question was one of importance I at once jumped forward, and there saw a full-grown vicious-looking viper on the ground close to the boy. In an instant I struck it with my stick, and broke its back, and said, “I tell you what, youngster, before you call people donkeys you ought to know something about what you are talking of. That thing is a viper, and if you had touched it you would have been poisoned by its bite, and probably would have died.”

“Oh, but I thought it was only a snake!” said the youth, with that air of unmistakable self-satisfaction which at once indicates the unlicked cub.

“I told you it was a viper, Walter,” said the young lady in a conciliatory tone.

“Oh, but you know nothing about it,” replied the youth.

“The young lady knew better than you,” I said, “and you ought to be much obliged to her for having probably saved your life, instead of being as cheeky as you are. If you were my young brother, I’d soon teach you manners!”

The boy looked at me with an air of surprise, but seemed indisposed to make any reply, whilst the young lady thanked me for having killed the viper.

“You don’t remember me, Mr Shepard?” she then said; “I was quite a little girl when we last met, about five years ago, and I have only just returned from Brussels, where I was at school. I was staying with my uncle, General Holloway, near Ringwood, when you came over to fish.”

I then remembered that, during a short visit to General Holloway’s, there was a pretty little girl staying at the house, who used to play and sing very well. I was very bashful at the time, and for the first day or two did not get on with her; but after that we became great friends.

“Surely you are not Helen Stanley,” I said, “who used to sing to me at General Holloway’s?”

“Yes, I am,” she replied, “but I have grown very much since then, and so have you. I’ve heard so much of you, and of your success at Woolwich. What a splendid thing it must be to pass examinations, and to be a soldier too!”

“Rather hard work, though,” I replied. “No one knows till they have tried it what there is to go through.”

“Oh, but see how much it does for a young man! Why, see the young men about here how awkward they are, how clumsily they walk and stand; they are quite different from a soldier. I’m so glad to have met you; and it’s lucky for Walter’s sake I did so, or the viper would have stung him.”

Helen Stanley was at this time about eighteen; but she was older in manner and style than she was in years. It is useless to attempt to describe to the reader a person who attracts us, or who wields an influence over us – the mere detail description of complexion, colour of hair, and of eyes, shape of mouth and nose, giving to a third person no more idea of the individual than if we said nothing. I can only speak, then, of Miss Stanley as a young lady who to me seemed very pretty – whose hand it was a pleasure to touch on meeting – whose society was a pleasure, and who seemed to call up in me all the better parts of my nature. I had not been five minutes talking to her before I knew that she was one who would produce an influence on me in the future.

“How does it happen that you are here?” I inquired.

“Our carriage is in the road beyond, and aunt is there. I got out to walk with Walter, and to try and get some fern-roots. Come and see aunt; she wants to see you, and you have never come over to call.”

I strolled on with Miss Stanley and her young brother, whom I now saw looking at me with staring eyes and evident admiration. A gentleman cadet was in his eyes “somebody,” and he already seemed to regret his rudeness at our first meeting. A forest path led us out into the road, and we soon reached the carriage in which Mrs Holloway, or, as the country people styled her, “Mrs General Holloway,” was reclining, enjoying the view before her.

“Aunt,” said Miss Stanley, “whom do you think I’ve found in the forest?”

Mrs Holloway looked with an air of surprise, and I fancied of displeasure, at seeing me walking with her niece.

“I cannot imagine,” she replied. “Perhaps you had better introduce this gentleman to me.”

“Oh! aunt, can’t you guess? I thought you would know him at once! I did.”

Mrs Holloway looked at me for a few seconds, and shook her head, indicating her want of recognition.

“Why, don’t you remember Mr Shepard?” said Miss Stanley.

Mrs Holloway looked at me with a surprised air, then, holding out her hand, said, “What! is it possible that little Bob Shepard has in two years grown up to be you? What a splendid thing drill and going out in the world is for a boy! I should not have known you, Bob, or Mr Shepard – I ought to say Gentleman Cadet Shepard, perhaps. I’ve heard all about you, though – how you passed examinations that every one said you couldn’t pass, and how you have just succeeded at your last examination. Your friends must be very proud of you. But why have you not been over to see us?”

“I have only been home a few days,” I replied, “and have not been anywhere yet.”

“You must come over and stay with us a few days,” said Mrs Holloway. “Helen has no one to accompany her in her rides besides the groom, and she will be glad, I know, of your society; so we will let you know when to come. Can we drive you anywhere?”

“No, thank you,” I replied. “I am going home through the forest.”

“Good-bye, then, and don’t forget we shall expect you soon.”

“Good-bye!”

The carriage drove off. I waved my hand, and then stood looking after the carriage – a new sphere in my life being thus opened to me.

I walked on through winding paths that led towards my home, thinking of the curious meeting with Miss Stanley, and of how charming she looked, and how pleasing her manner was. I had never before been much in young ladies’ society, for previous to my going to Hostler’s school I avoided girls, as I considered them a nuisance, and they made a practice of laughing at me because I was shy and very small. Three years, however, make a great difference in one’s views, especially when those three years come when we are fifteen years of age. At eighteen I was not the same person I was at fifteen. And now, as I walked home, I speculated on how long it would be before I was asked to the General’s, and should have an opportunity of again seeing Helen Stanley.

On my arrival home I was surprised to find that my aunt and sisters did not seem to appreciate Miss Stanley. She was “stuck up,” they said, and gave herself airs, because she had been to school abroad; but it was generally agreed that I should accept the invitation, as the General was a man of considerable influence.

“You must mind you don’t fall in love with Helen!” said one of my sisters. “She is an awful flirt.”

“That’s not likely,” I replied, with an assurance that I by no means felt, for I found my mind running on little else than the remarks made by Miss Stanley, and her image seemed always before me as I saw her when she reminded me of our former meeting.

Each day I now looked anxiously for a letter from the Heronry, as General Holloway’s house was called, and on the third after my interview with Miss Stanley a formal invitation came, asking me to stay a week at the Heronry, and asking if I could come on the following afternoon. The invitation was, of course, accepted, and on the following afternoon I arrived at the General’s, where I was received very kindly by my host and hostess, and by the fair Helen.

There are few things more flattering to a youth at the doubtful age at which I was, than to be treated as a man by a handsome girl. Helen Stanley never once in any way indicated that she thought me “young,” or anything but a man. I was “Mr Shepard” to her, and whether she meant to flatter me, or whether it was merely the natural agreeableness of her manner, I cannot say, but she had the knack of causing me to think better of myself than I had formerly done. She reminded me how quickly and successfully I had prepared for the Academy, and she compared my success with the failures of some other candidates for Woolwich whom she had known. More than once she had said how she envied me for being a man with such a splendid career before me in the army, either in the Artillery or Engineers, and that she was certain I should distinguish myself in the future.

It is not in the nature of man, especially of a very young one, or of woman either, to reason or criticise very closely the truth or foundation of flattery. We stretch many points to make us ready to believe there are grounds for what is said. I had been so unjustly abused by Snipson when his neux, that the conceit had been too much taken out of me, and I had lost too much of that self-possession which we all ought to possess in order to make way in the world. The flattery of Miss Stanley, therefore, came on me with all the charm of novelty, and as I thought over what she had said, I felt bound to acknowledge that praise was due to me for the manner in which I had passed through my hard trials at Hostler’s, had succeeded at my examinations, and stood the bullying of my first half-year at the Academy. Any way, it was most agreeable to be in the society of a young lady who seemed to think I deserved to be praised and commended for what I had done.

The first few days of my visit at the Heronry passed like a dream. I was as happy as a bird, but was fast drifting into love with Helen. She, however, seemed a very wise young lady, who could talk with me, sing with me, flirt with me, but apparently not be in love with me. I had myself made all sorts of desperate resolves. I should get my commission, distinguish myself in some way, and then propose for Helen. The details of our future life I had not worked out, nor did I consider that I had not calculated the future beyond the period at which I should be twenty-one. Although the time passed rapidly and agreeably, yet I knew I had learnt much in the first three days I was at the Heronry. I had begun a new study, etc, the investigation of the peculiarities and inconsistencies of the feminine mind.

At breakfast, on the fourth morning of my visit, Helen Stanley announced to the General that Charles would arrive that afternoon. I looked up surprised at this remark, for I had never heard of a “Charles,” and did not know whom he was. Seeing my look of curiosity, Miss Stanley said, “Charles is my cousin. He is at Oxford, and is coming here for a few days. He is very clever, I hear; so you two will get on well together, I hope.”

I instantly felt certain that cousin Charles and I should not get on well together, and I was most anxious to discover, if possible, whether there was any other relationship between Helen and cousin Charles besides that of cousinship. Miss Stanley, however, gave me no clue, and seemed to avoid being alone with me during the morning, so that I had no opportunity of learning anything except that cousin Charles was at Oxford and very clever.

At the expected time cousin Charles, whose surname I ascertained was also Stanley, arrived at the Heronry. I saw him get out of the vehicle he had driven in, and approach the house. From the experience I had gained of men during the past two years I could judge tolerably well of what a young man was by his appearance, and the instant I saw Charles Stanley I concluded that he was “a conceited prig.” I entered the drawing-room soon after his arrival, and was introduced to him as Gentleman Cadet Shepard. Stanley nearly closed his eyes as he looked at me for half a minute, and then held out two fingers to me to shake. I just touched his hand and then turned towards the window and looked out on the view, whilst I was estimating in my own mind the value and worthlessness of Mr Charles Stanley.

It was soon evident to me that Stanley was on very intimate terms with his cousin Helen, also that he admired her very much. I also became conscious that he was not favourably impressed with me, and I made up my mind that we should certainly not get on well during our visit.

At dinner that evening Stanley fired his first shot at me, and it certainly hit its mark, for I was made to look very small whilst he aired his knowledge before Helen Stanley.

I happened to mention that I had seen a hawk hovering over the poultry-yard in the afternoon, and I thought it possible that some young chicken might be carried off.

“By hawk,” said Stanley, “do you mean the ‘Tinnunculus alaudarius’ or the ‘Accipiter Nisus’?”

“I mean what we call here the kestrel,” I replied.

Stanley put his glass in his eye and looked at me, and said, “Dear me! I was told you were a very clever naturalist.”

“I don’t think natural history consists in giving long names to animals,” I said, “but in knowing their habits.”

“Indeed?” said Stanley. “But I am afraid you don’t learn much classics at Woolwich.”

“None after we enter,” I replied. “We then learn only useful things, and don’t cram our heads with pedantic knowledge.”

“I’m very sorry to see the youngsters of the present day so radical in their ideas,” said Stanley, addressing the General. “There is no training for a gentleman equal to a thorough classical education.”

“I don’t agree with you,” said the General. “Of course you Oxford men think there’s nothing like leather, but I would sooner have my son know French and German well, than Greek and Latin, and the latter would be more practically useful to him than the former; and as to a mathematical education, it is essential in the present day. I fancy that your great classics are usually men who live more in the past than for the present or future, and that won’t do now.”

“A man who is not a good classic is always making himself ridiculous because he is sure to make a false quantity, and his ignorance is seen by others.”

“Ah, that’s a sort of pedantry,” replied the General, “which is what I set my face against. Your classic belongs to a large school, and prides himself immensely on his knowledge. He only values men according to what he finds they know of classics. Now, this is a mistake. You will find that horse-jockeys and stablemen do the same. If you make a remark to a horsey man, showing you are not up in horse slang, he at once sets you down as a muff, for he has only one standard of excellence, viz, knowledge of horses, just as you have of classics. Just now you took it out of Shepard there about the Latin names of hawks, and then you seemed to think that knowing these names made a naturalist. This I don’t agree to. Now, I’d back Shepard to tell quicker than you a summer from a winter cage when he saw one.”

“I think I could tell that,” replied Stanley.

“How?” inquired the General.

“Well, the winter cage ought to be warmer and hung on the sunny side of the house, and perhaps covered with something to keep the cold wind out.”

A shout of laughter from the General, in which both I and Miss Stanley joined, interrupted Stanley in his remarks. He looked annoyed and surprised, and seemed waiting for an explanation.

“There!” said the General, “you have done worse than make a false quantity; you have shown you know nothing of what I meant. You must know that ‘a cage’ means in the forest a squirrel’s nest, and that the squirrel makes a summer and a winter cage – one of sticks, the other of moss.”

We had several other little “passages of arms” during dinner, much, I fancied, to the amusement of Helen Stanley, who seemed to enjoy seeing her cousin taken down a little.

On the following morning a ride was proposed to see one of the largest beech-trees in the forest, which was in Eyeworth Wood. The party consisted of my youngest sister, Miss Stanley, Stanley, and myself. We had scarcely mounted our horses before I saw that Stanley was a very indifferent rider. He tried his best to conceal the fact, but it was of no use. The pony he was riding was a well-bred forest pony, strong, and high spirited. The animal seemed (as horses soon do) to have discovered that his rider was an indifferent horseman, and began to play various tricks, much to the discomfiture of Stanley, who kept his seat with difficulty. I could see that Stanley was fast losing his temper, and when his cousin told him to keep his hands lower, and not to jerk the pony’s mouth, he seemed to be ready to quarrel with any one.

“I see what you mean,” Stanley replied, looking at me. “These forest brutes require riding more in the butcher-boy style.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s the way – more like a butcher-boy and less like a tailor!”

I thought Stanley would have hit me with his whip. He raised it, and probably would have done so; but his pony, seeing the whip raised, bounded off, and deposited Stanley on his back on the turf.

We saw he was not hurt, so out attention was turned to catching his pony, which we soon succeeded in doing, when he mounted again and safely accomplished the remainder of his ride.

Miss Stanley was nearly the whole time by my side, and I found myself more and more charmed with her. I was flattered by her manner, and felt that there would be great satisfaction in gaining her approval in my future career at Woolwich.

“I shall always look out for your name in the papers,” she said, “to see when you get any prizes. I saw your name in the Times as having passed when I was at Brussels, and I was so glad.”