"Well, my little sage—but I must first tell you the circumstances under which I wrote it, and the reasons I have for being disappointed."
"Stay one moment then," said she, drawing his arm-chair to the fire, which she stirred, till it sent a good flame up the chimney, then seating herself opposite, she begged him to go on. Beginning to feel happier, he scarce knew why he sat down, and, after a moment's hesitation, he said—
"I was always very fond of writing, when a young man—I dare say, thought myself something of a genius—but though I wished to devote myself entirely to study, this was so much opposed by my more prudent father, that I gave up my own inclinations, and entered into a lucrative mercantile establishment in London. Not long after this, I married, and then it appeared to me, to be my duty to devote myself entirely to business, in order that I might acquire wealth for my wife, and increasing family—but I gave myself too rigidly to the task—I gave myself no ease—always fearing that I longed for it, only from the desire for selfish indulgence. The consequence has been that my family has been educated in a manner of which I strongly disapprove—and, alas! I feel the evil is so great as to require something stronger even than a father's displeasure to remedy it."
Mr. Villars sighed, and then continued—
"In the short intervals of business, I noted down, from time to time, scenes which were drawn either from real life, or my own fancy—together with numerous remarks on the manners of my own times, which I thought might be amusing—pining always to indulge what I falsely believed to be a talent.
"How often desired blessings bring a curse. A few years since my speculations were successful beyond my expectations, and I found myself enabled to retire from business with a good conscience. This place was the scene of my happy boyhood, and of my school days, and here I resolved to settle, since it offered pleasures suited to us all.
"With the eagerness of a schoolboy I fitted up this study; it was the very perfection of my taste, it contains every book I take any pleasure in, and yet," he said, looking gloomily round him, "it has been to me the scene of greater misery than even you, seemingly deprived of almost every blessing, can calculate upon.
"Secure as I believed of the interest of my family, for year after year of, to me, heavy toil had, I believe, purchased it beyond a doubt. I thought I would prepare them a treat, and so set about collecting my scattered writings, and forming them into a whole, promising them a reading every Saturday of what I had done in the week.
"I never shall forget the first Saturday evening. You have, I dare say, often heard that an author's vanity is capable of blinding him to the opinions of others. I cannot understand the feeling myself, and I was not slow in perceiving that my book soon failed to interest—but I tire you."
"You pain, but interest me," replied Mabel.