My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth! Let me think,as I look back upon that flowing water, now a dry channel overgrown withleaves, whether there are any marks along its course, by which I canremember how it ran.

A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where we all wenttogether, every Sunday morning, assembling first at school for thatpurpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of the worldbeing shut out, the resounding of the organ through the black and whitearched galleries and aisles, are wings that take me back, and hold mehovering above those days, in a half-sleeping and half-waking dream.

I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen in a few months, overseveral heads. But the first boy seems to me a mighty creature, dwellingafar off, whose giddy height is unattainable. Agnes says 'No,' but I say'Yes,' and tell her that she little thinks what stores of knowledge havebeen mastered by the wonderful Being, at whose place she thinks I, evenI, weak aspirant, may arrive in time. He is not my private friendand public patron, as Steerforth was, but I hold him in a reverentialrespect. I chiefly wonder what he'll be, when he leaves Doctor Strong's,and what mankind will do to maintain any place against him.

But who is this that breaks upon me? This is Miss Shepherd, whom I love.

Miss Shepherd is a boarder at the Misses Nettingalls' establishment. Iadore Miss Shepherd. She is a little girl, in a spencer, with a roundface and curly flaxen hair. The Misses Nettingalls' young ladies come tothe Cathedral too. I cannot look upon my book, for I must look uponMiss Shepherd. When the choristers chaunt, I hear Miss Shepherd. In theservice I mentally insert Miss Shepherd's name--I put her in among theRoyal Family. At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out,'Oh, Miss Shepherd!' in a transport of love.

For some time, I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd's feelings, but, atlength, Fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing-school. I haveMiss Shepherd for my partner. I touch Miss Shepherd's glove, and feel athrill go up the right arm of my jacket, and come out at my hair. I saynothing to Miss Shepherd, but we understand each other. Miss Shepherdand myself live but to be united.

Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts for a present, Iwonder? They are not expressive of affection, they are difficult to packinto a parcel of any regular shape, they are hard to crack, even inroom doors, and they are oily when cracked; yet I feel that they areappropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits, also, I bestow uponMiss Shepherd; and oranges innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss Shepherd inthe cloak-room. Ecstasy! What are my agony and indignation next day,when I hear a flying rumour that the Misses Nettingall have stood MissShepherd in the stocks for turning in her toes!

Miss Shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of my life, howdo I ever come to break with her? I can't conceive. And yet a coolnessgrows between Miss Shepherd and myself. Whispers reach me of MissShepherd having said she wished I wouldn't stare so, and having avowed apreference for Master Jones--for Jones! a boy of no merit whatever! Thegulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens. At last, one day, I meet theMisses Nettingalls' establishment out walking. Miss Shepherd makesa face as she goes by, and laughs to her companion. All is over. Thedevotion of a life--it seems a life, it is all the same--is at an end;Miss Shepherd comes out of the morning service, and the Royal Familyknow her no more.

I am higher in the school, and no one breaks my peace. I am not at allpolite, now, to the Misses Nettingalls' young ladies, and shouldn'tdote on any of them, if they were twice as many and twenty times asbeautiful. I think the dancing-school a tiresome affair, and wonder whythe girls can't dance by themselves and leave us alone. I am growinggreat in Latin verses, and neglect the laces of my boots. Doctor Strongrefers to me in public as a promising young scholar. Mr. Dick is wildwith joy, and my aunt remits me a guinea by the next post.

The shade of a young butcher rises, like the apparition of an armed headin Macbeth. Who is this young butcher? He is the terror of the youthof Canterbury. There is a vague belief abroad, that the beef suet withwhich he anoints his hair gives him unnatural strength, and that he isa match for a man. He is a broad-faced, bull-necked, young butcher, withrough red cheeks, an ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious tongue.His main use of this tongue, is, to disparage Doctor Strong's younggentlemen. He says, publicly, that if they want anything he'll give it'em. He names individuals among them (myself included), whom he couldundertake to settle with one hand, and the other tied behind him. Hewaylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and callschallenges after me in the open streets. For these sufficient reasons Iresolve to fight the butcher.

It is a summer evening, down in a green hollow, at the corner of a wall.I meet the butcher by appointment. I am attended by a select body of ourboys; the butcher, by two other butchers, a young publican, and a sweep.The preliminaries are adjusted, and the butcher and myself stand face toface. In a moment the butcher lights ten thousand candles out of my lefteyebrow. In another moment, I don't know where the wall is, or whereI am, or where anybody is. I hardly know which is myself and which thebutcher, we are always in such a tangle and tussle, knocking about uponthe trodden grass. Sometimes I see the butcher, bloody but confident;sometimes I see nothing, and sit gasping on my second's knee; sometimesI go in at the butcher madly, and cut my knuckles open against his face,without appearing to discompose him at all. At last I awake, very queerabout the head, as from a giddy sleep, and see the butcher walking off,congratulated by the two other butchers and the sweep and publican, andputting on his coat as he goes; from which I augur, justly, that thevictory is his.

I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks put to my eyes,and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and find a great puffy placebursting out on my upper lip, which swells immoderately. For three orfour days I remain at home, a very ill-looking subject, with a greenshade over my eyes; and I should be very dull, but that Agnes is asister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to me, and makes the timelight and happy. Agnes has my confidence completely, always; I tell herall about the butcher, and the wrongs he has heaped upon me; she thinksI couldn't have done otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinksand trembles at my having fought him.

Time has stolen on unobserved, for Adams is not the head-boy in the daysthat are come now, nor has he been this many and many a day. Adams hasleft the school so long, that when he comes back, on a visit to DoctorStrong, there are not many there, besides myself, who know him. Adams isgoing to be called to the bar almost directly, and is to be an advocate,and to wear a wig. I am surprised to find him a meeker man than I hadthought, and less imposing in appearance. He has not staggered the worldyet, either; for it goes on (as well as I can make out) pretty much thesame as if he had never joined it.

A blank, through which the warriors of poetry and history march on instately hosts that seem to have no end--and what comes next! I amthe head-boy, now! I look down on the line of boys below me, with acondescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I wasmyself, when I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no partof me; I remember him as something left behind upon the road of life--assomething I have passed, rather than have actually been--and almostthink of him as of someone else.

And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, whereis she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture,a child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweetsister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend, thebetter angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good,self-denying influence--is quite a woman.

What other changes have come upon me, besides the changes in my growthand looks, and in the knowledge I have garnered all this while? I weara gold watch and chain, a ring upon my little finger, and a long-tailedcoat; and I use a great deal of bear's grease--which, taken inconjunction with the ring, looks bad. Am I in love again? I am. Iworship the eldest Miss Larkins.

The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, dark,black-eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss Larkins is not achicken; for the youngest Miss Larkins is not that, and the eldest mustbe three or four years older. Perhaps the eldest Miss Larkins may beabout thirty. My passion for her is beyond all bounds.

The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to bear. Isee them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross the way to meether, when her bonnet (she has a bright taste in bonnets) is seen comingdown the pavement, accompanied by her sister's bonnet. She laughs andtalks, and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own spare time inwalking up and down to meet her. If I can bow to her once in the day (Iknow her to bow to, knowing Mr. Larkins), I am happier. I deserve a bownow and then. The raging agonies I suffer on the night of the Race Ball,where I know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the military,ought to have some compensation, if there be even-handed justice in theworld.

My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear my newest silkneckerchief continually. I have no relief but in putting on my bestclothes, and having my boots cleaned over and over again. I seem, then,to be worthier of the eldest Miss Larkins. Everything that belongs toher, or is connected with her, is precious to me. Mr. Larkins (a gruffold gentleman with a double chin, and one of his eyes immovable in hishead) is fraught with interest to me. When I can't meet his daughter,I go where I am likely to meet him. To say 'How do you do, Mr. Larkins?Are the young ladies and all the family quite well?' seems so pointed,that I blush.

I think continually about my age. Say I am seventeen, and say thatseventeen is young for the eldest Miss Larkins, what of that? Besides,I shall be one-and-twenty in no time almost. I regularly take walksoutside Mr. Larkins's house in the evening, though it cuts me to theheart to see the officers go in, or to hear them up in the drawing-room,where the eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp. I even walk, on two orthree occasions, in a sickly, spoony manner, round and round the houseafter the family are gone to bed, wondering which is the eldest MissLarkins's chamber (and pitching, I dare say now, on Mr. Larkins'sinstead); wishing that a fire would burst out; that the assembled crowdwould stand appalled; that I, dashing through them with a ladder, mightrear it against her window, save her in my arms, go back for somethingshe had left behind, and perish in the flames. For I am generallydisinterested in my love, and think I could be content to make a figurebefore Miss Larkins, and expire.

Generally, but not always. Sometimes brighter visions rise before me.When I dress (the occupation of two hours), for a great ball given atthe Larkins's (the anticipation of three weeks), I indulge my fancy withpleasing images. I picture myself taking courage to make a declarationto Miss Larkins. I picture Miss Larkins sinking her head upon myshoulder, and saying, 'Oh, Mr. Copperfield, can I believe my ears!' Ipicture Mr. Larkins waiting on me next morning, and saying, 'My dearCopperfield, my daughter has told me all. Youth is no objection. Hereare twenty thousand pounds. Be happy!' I picture my aunt relenting,and blessing us; and Mr. Dick and Doctor Strong being present at themarriage ceremony. I am a sensible fellow, I believe--I believe,on looking back, I mean--and modest I am sure; but all this goes onnotwithstanding. I repair to the enchanted house, where there arelights, chattering, music, flowers, officers (I am sorry to see), andthe eldest Miss Larkins, a blaze of beauty. She is dressed in blue, withblue flowers in her hair--forget-me-nots--as if SHE had any need to wearforget-me-nots. It is the first really grown-up party that I have everbeen invited to, and I am a little uncomfortable; for I appear not tobelong to anybody, and nobody appears to have anything to say to me,except Mr. Larkins, who asks me how my schoolfellows are, which heneedn't do, as I have not come there to be insulted.

But after I have stood in the doorway for some time, and feasted my eyesupon the goddess of my heart, she approaches me--she, the eldest MissLarkins!--and asks me pleasantly, if I dance?

I stammer, with a bow, 'With you, Miss Larkins.'

'With no one else?' inquires Miss Larkins.

'I should have no pleasure in dancing with anyone else.'

Miss Larkins laughs and blushes (or I think she blushes), and says,'Next time but one, I shall be very glad.'

The time arrives. 'It is a waltz, I think,' Miss Larkins doubtfullyobserves, when I present myself. 'Do you waltz? If not, CaptainBailey--'

But I do waltz (pretty well, too, as it happens), and I take MissLarkins out. I take her sternly from the side of Captain Bailey. Heis wretched, I have no doubt; but he is nothing to me. I have beenwretched, too. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins! I don't know where,among whom, or how long. I only know that I swim about in space, with ablue angel, in a state of blissful delirium, until I find myself alonewith her in a little room, resting on a sofa. She admires a flower (pinkcamellia japonica, price half-a-crown), in my button-hole. I give ither, and say:

'I ask an inestimable price for it, Miss Larkins.'

'Indeed! What is that?' returns Miss Larkins.

'A flower of yours, that I may treasure it as a miser does gold.'

'You're a bold boy,' says Miss Larkins. 'There.'

She gives it me, not displeased; and I put it to my lips, and then intomy breast. Miss Larkins, laughing, draws her hand through my arm, andsays, 'Now take me back to Captain Bailey.'

I am lost in the recollection of this delicious interview, and thewaltz, when she comes to me again, with a plain elderly gentleman whohas been playing whist all night, upon her arm, and says:

'Oh! here is my bold friend! Mr. Chestle wants to know you, Mr.Copperfield.'

I feel at once that he is a friend of the family, and am much gratified.

'I admire your taste, sir,' says Mr. Chestle. 'It does you credit. Isuppose you don't take much interest in hops; but I am a prettylarge grower myself; and if you ever like to come over to ourneighbourhood--neighbourhood of Ashford--and take a run about ourplace,--we shall be glad for you to stop as long as you like.'

I thank Mr. Chestle warmly, and shake hands. I think I am in a happydream. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins once again. She says Iwaltz so well! I go home in a state of unspeakable bliss, and waltz inimagination, all night long, with my arm round the blue waist of my deardivinity. For some days afterwards, I am lost in rapturous reflections;but I neither see her in the street, nor when I call. I am imperfectlyconsoled for this disappointment by the sacred pledge, the perishedflower.

'Trotwood,' says Agnes, one day after dinner. 'Who do you think is goingto be married tomorrow? Someone you admire.'

'Not you, I suppose, Agnes?'

'Not me!' raising her cheerful face from the music she is copying. 'Doyou hear him, Papa?--The eldest Miss Larkins.'

'To--to Captain Bailey?' I have just enough power to ask.

'No; to no Captain. To Mr. Chestle, a hop-grower.'

I am terribly dejected for about a week or two. I take off my ring, Iwear my worst clothes, I use no bear's grease, and I frequently lamentover the late Miss Larkins's faded flower. Being, by that time, rathertired of this kind of life, and having received new provocation fromthe butcher, I throw the flower away, go out with the butcher, andgloriously defeat him.

This, and the resumption of my ring, as well as of the bear's greasein moderation, are the last marks I can discern, now, in my progress toseventeen.