or a Marlborough, he directs his studies with an undeviating aim to that point. If he begin any language, science, or art, he pursues it steadily till he gains either a perfect knowledge of its principles; or at least acquires as much as his teacher can give him. He will not hear of a slight knowledge of any thing; therefore, what he does not wish to master, he never attempts at all. In short, his talents take the form of passions; and are not to be exhausted by the continuance or impetuosity of their course."

From strong interest, the Marquis had hitherto forborne to interrupt Mr. Athelstone; but he could not now help exclaiming—"Oh, Sir, what a perilous character have you described!—How great is the responsibility of the man who is to guide and impel this youth! Virtue and vice contend alike for the direction of such spirits:—and you are answerable to his father and to heaven, that these powerful impulses should not be turned to evil!"

"I know it," replied the Pastor, devoutly bowing his head to the Almighty Being to whom he especially owed this responsibility; "and at present, I trust, those impulses are blameless. His heart overflows with good-will to every created thing; and, (as he often says with a gay smile,) he seems born with no other concern but to be happy, and to do his best to make others as happy as himself. Dear child!" exclaimed the old man, with glistening eyes;—"if that be his commission, he knows he fulfils it here!—For the sound of his voice, or the tread of his foot in the passage, is sufficient at any time to raise my head from my severest studies; and to make his aunt and cousins start from their chairs, to welcome their gladdening Louis!"

"And yet you trust this gay, this buoyant!—this young man, constituted by nature, to be only too sensible to the world's allurements; you trust him to the temptations of his uncle's roof?"

"Because," replied the Pastor, "they are no temptations to him. Setting aside the principles with which religion fortifies his heart, his taste is too pure not to be disgusted with the coarse jollity of Sir Anthony's usual boon companions. These sots see nothing in their wassal-bowl, but the wine and its spices. It is the possible visits of Duke Wharton, and a few of his anacreontic associates, that excite my apprehension. He drugs the cup with the wreath of genius. The wit, the grace, the sorceries of that man, indeed fill me with alarm: and from his society, as I would snatch a swimmer from the verge of a whirlpool, I shall hasten to bear away my yet uncorrupted nephew."

The Marquis enquired how, with these sentiments, and after the rupture with Sir Anthony, Mr. Athelstone had ever suffered Louis de Montemar to touch such a vortex again.—Mr. Athelstone apologized for having digressed so long from this most necessary part of his narrative; and proceeded to relate the accident which re-introduced the uncle and nephew to each other. What he succinctly related, is more particularly given thus:

In the autumn of the preceding year, Louis obtained his guardian's permission to accompany a neighbouring gentleman to the Red-deer hunt at Blair Athol in Scotland. On the first day, several fine harts were roused and slain. But just as the two Northumbrians were seating themselves on a high wooded cliff to take some refreshment after a hot pursuit, the forester who attended them approached, crouching on hands and knees, and silently made a sign, pointing to the glen beneath.—On looking where he levelled, they saw two fine stags upon a rock below, which projected over the river Tilt. Louis immediately took aim, and shot one of them on the edge of the precipice; the animal fell headlong into the stream; and the victor, with his followers, hastened down the glen to secure his prize. About the same instant, a huntsman, who had been with the foremost all day, from an opposite direction had espied the companion of the slain stag galloping forward in affright. He lost not a moment, but fired, and wounded the creature in the haunches. The disabled deer slackened his pace, and the huntsman let a hound loose after him, who held him at bay on a high bank; but the stag recovered courage, and broke away again.—Another dog was then unleashed, which brought him to a stand in a deep dell, filled by the current of a mountain-stream. This second hound ran in upon his antagonist, and seized him between the horns. The stag gored him from shoulder to shoulder, and alarmed for the life of his dog, the huntsman made a spring into the water, to shoot the deer without danger to the hound. But in his haste, the man fell, and with his gun under him. At this moment the Northumbrians came up. Louis's companion rashly unloosed their dogs, to assist the struggling hounds of the fallen huntsman. The deer, the dogs, all were at once upon the prostrate man. He called for help.—The stag's foot was on his breast:—the hounds crushed him as they sprung forward, and hung on the furious animal. The deer's eye-balls flashed fire; he dashed his tremendous antlers from side to side, and seemed aiming their next plunge against the life of his fallen enemy.

"He is a dead man!" cried the forester. But Louis drew a dirk, which was always his companion in these excursions 5 and throwing himself at once amidst the terrific group, struck it into the throat of the animal.—The wounded stag instantly recoiled, carrying away the weapon buried in his flesh. The released huntsman sprung on his legs, and extricating himself from the dogs, which hung more fiercely on their dying prey, staggered towards the adjacent bank. With the assistance of his companions, Louis immediately conveyed the fainting stranger to a neighbouring lodge, where he soon recovered his recollection and wonted spirits.—Perhaps it need hardly be said, that this stranger was Sir Anthony Athelstone!—Louis, being unacquainted with the alteration in his uncle's person, which eight years of intemperance had rendered bloated and coarse, had thus exerted himself from humanity alone. But when Sir Anthony enquired the name of his preserver, and learnt that he owed his life to the intrepidity of Louis de Montemar, the joy of the uncle knew no bounds. He embraced his nephew a thousand times; vowed never to marry, that he might adopt him as his son; nay, he declared, that from this day forward, Louis de Montemar should be the lord both of Bamborough and its master. Louis was affected by his uncle's gratitude, and self-accusations for the cause of their first separation; but respectfully declined resuming a stationary residence at the castle, though he gratefully promised to make his visits very frequent.

"Providence having thus reconciled the uncle and nephew," continued the Pastor, "how could I presume to refuse my sanction to the renewal of kindred affection?"

The Marquis assented to the force of this argument; and Mr. Athelstone hastened to conclude his narrative, of which the following is a brief summary.

After this general amnesty, Louis continued to visit Sir Anthony every week. And as the watchful guardian heard of no proceedings in the baronet likely to injure the morals of his nephew, he consented to his accompanying his uncle early in the ensuing spring, to re-visit the scene of their happy reconciliation. They accordingly went to Scotland. And when they left the Duke of Athol's, Sir Anthony proposed returning home by Loch Rannock, and paying his respects to old Robertson of Struan. Louis was eager to see the veteran and the poet; though, from his advanced age, he expected to find