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Don't learn any of Henry Milner's odd ways. “ Your ever affectionate mother,

“ EstiPHANIA BONVILLE."

After having read this letter, of which he heeded not a single syllable, with the exception of what referred to Lady - and her daughters, Edgar tore a turning-down which contained the signature and the last sentence of the epistle, to keep a place in his dictionary, burning the rest of the letter in a candle which had been lighted for sealing a note-thus done, as he supposed, his mother's bidding. The next day, after Edgar had duly said all that was proper and pretty from his mother to Mr. Dalben, and his protegé, Henry found the slip of paper in the dictionary, and before he was aware that it was part of a letter, read these words : “ Don't learn any of Henry Milner's odd ways. “ Your ever affectionate mother,

“ ESTIPHANIA BONVILLE." “ And this,” said he, in high indignation, “ from that flattering woman.

I shall know how to believe her another time.” His anger, however, soon passed away, and before he saw Edgar again, the circumstance had almost slipped from his memory.

CHAP. XVI.

Speaking of things of more importance than may

first appear.

Who is more to be pitied than a young man who has a silly mother, unless it may be an old man who has a silly wife. To be sure, a man is not accountable for the folly of his mother, inasmuch as he is not supposed to have chosen that mother ; but then, if he has any feeling or principle, to be obliged to submit to the authority of folly, how exceedingly painful! And Edgar Bonville had feeling he loved his mother, and, in consequence, her influence was the more injurious.

He was beginning to be very happy with Mr. Dalben, when the silly letter mentioned in the last chapter arrived. He had heard nothing of the world for three weeks; the studies, to which he had been in a manner compelled, had rendered his hours of leisure comparatively sweet, and his mind was opening upon religious subjects. He could even talk of the millennium with Henry, and see the promises of that happy period in the various and beautiful works of nature. His mind was naturally elegant; neither did he want some degree of an imaginative quality. Mr. Dalben had precluded his writing sonnets during the hours established for heavier duties. Hence he had been stopped short in a series of sonnets addressed to some imaginary Dulcinea, with which he had been occupied for some time; but he brought down one morning a little copy of verses, in which he had described the glory of the earth in the latter days, in a style which pleased Mr. Dalben very much, from the purity, elegance, and piety of the expressions. Mr. Dalben, indeed, feared that these expressions of piety were little more than façon de parler ; for he who writes in the character of a Christian must needs exalt, in his hero, the object of religion ; that is, if he would write consistently; and he must use scripture language, and avail himself of scripture emblems. However, Mr. Dalben made no remark by which he might run the risk of quenching the smoking flax; nay, on the whole, he was much pleased with this effort of Edgar's muse, and his hopes of making something of the young man, arose in proportion.

But when the letter came from Mrs. Bonville, her son fell immediately into his former restless habits ; and that very day, when walking with Henry, he asked him how he could endure so monotonous a life as he led at Mr. Dalben’s, year after year.

“Endure!" replied Henry; “why, I am very happy. What do I want?”

“ But you never see any company,” returned Edgar;

your ideas are never revolutionized.”

“What then?” replied Henry. “ If they are already pleasantly arranged, why should I wish them to be revolutionized, as you say?" « Oh !” exclaimed Edgar,

mother says, toujours la même chose is an abominable thing;” and the young man gaped and stretched himself—and gaped again and shook himself, and finished off with a sort of groan, and then stood still, looking vacantly on the view before him, with his arms folded, and his features fixed as if life itself were come to a dead stand.

Well,” said Henry; well, and what next?

Edgar turned round, and stood fixed again with his face towards another point of the compass, but made no reply.

“ What shall I do for you ?” said Henry,

as my

laughing

• What shall I do to stir up your ideas ?—But I have thought of something; I will make you a gymnastic pole-you know what a gymnastic pole is, Edgar—and you shall stretch yourself upon it.”

“ Pshaw!” said Edgar, peevishly," what would be the good of that ?"

“ I will certainly do it,” returned Henry; “I have been thinking of it some time, and when my pole is made, if you want a change of ideas

you will have nothing to do but to hang with your head downwards on the pole, and they will be transmogrified entirely when you stand on your legs again ; or, if you like it better,” continued Henry, “ you may hang yourself on my pole, and then all your troubles for want of company, at any rate, will be at an end.”

“ What do you mean by that ?” asked Edgar.

“ Not much," returned Henry,

“ Do you ever go to Malvern ?" asked Edgar. Often,” replied Henry.

“ When I was a little boy, my uncle made me acquainted with every part of those lovely hills. What a number of delightful walks I have had on those breezy heights !"

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