Chapter 7

The weary heart may mourn O'er the wither'd hopes of youth, But the flowers so rudely shorn Still leave the seeds of truth.

J.W.D. Moodie.

And years glided on. The trials of school, and all its joyous pastimes and short-lived sorrows, were over, and the cousins returned to spend the long-looked for and happy vacation at home. The curly-headed rosy-cheeked boys had expanded into fine tall lads of sixteen; blithe of heart, and strong of limb, full of the eager hopes and never-to-be-realized dreams of youth. With what delight they were welcomed by the Colonel! With what pride he turned them round and round, and examined the improvement in form and stature of the noble boys--wondering at first which was Anthony, and which his own dear mischievous rogue! They were so marvellously alike, that, seen at a distance, he scarcely knew which to call his son. And then how delightedly he listened to their laughing details of tricks and hoaxes, served off upon cross masters and tyrannical ushers, laughing more loudly than they, and suggesting improvements in mischievous pranks already too mischievous! Poor Algernon! in spite of the increasing infirmities of age, and the pressure of cares which his reckless extravagance could not fail to produce, he was perfectly happy in the company of these dear boys, and once more a boy himself.

He never inquired what progress they had made in their studies. He had put them to school, and paid for their schooling, and if they had not profited by their opportunities, it was no fault of his. Had he examined them upon this important subject, he would, indeed, have been surprised at the difference between them. Anthony, naturally studious, had made the most of his time, while master Godfrey had wasted his, and brought with him a small stock of literary acquirements, and many vices.

"What will my uncle say, when he finds how little you have learned during the last half year?" said Anthony to his cousin, while they were dressing for dinner.

"He'll never trouble his head about it, without you, Mr. Anthony, put him up to it, to show off your superior powers of drudgery. But mark me, Tony, if you dare to say one word about it, you and I shall quarrel."

"But what are we to do about Mr. Cunningham's letter? You know he gave me one to give to your father; and I much fear that it contains some remarks not very creditable to you."

"Did you give it to papa?"

"Not yet. Here it is."

"Let me look at the old fellow's autograph. What a bad hand for a schoolmaster! I will spare my dear lazy father the trouble of deciphering these villainous pot-hooks. Ha! ha! my good, industrious, quiet, plodding cousin Anthony, heir of Oak Hall, in the county of Wilts, there lies your amiable despatch;" and he spurned the torn document with his foot. "That's the way that I mean to serve all those who dare to criticise my actions."

"But, dear Godfrey, it is yourself that you injure by this awful waste of your time and talents."

"Talents!--Fiddlesticks! What care I for talents, without it were those shining substantial talents spoken of in the Scriptures--talents of gold and silver. Give me these talents, my boy, and you may profit by all the rest. Wasting of time! How can we waste that which we can neither overtake, nor detain when ours, and which when past is lost for ever? Miser of moments! in another school than thine, Godfrey Hurdlestone will learn to improve the present."

"But those wasted moments, Godfrey, how will the recollection of them embitter the future! Remember, my dear cousin, what our good chaplain often told us--'Time is but the ante-chamber to Eternity!'"

"What, turned preacher! A prudent move that, Tony. I've heard that old Ironsides has no less than five rich livings in his gift. Now, by Jove! I'd turn parson to-morrow, if I thought my uncle would be dutiful enough to bestow one or two of them upon me. How would the 'Rev. Godfrey Hurdlestone' look upon a visiting card?"

He wrote upon a card, and held it up to Anthony. "See the address of the Right Worshipful Rector of Ashton. Behold him riding upon a fine cob--living in a fine house--surrounded by sleek, well-fed, obsequious servants--his table served like a prince--his wine the best in the country--his parties the most brilliant--his friends the most obliging in the world--his curate does all the work for some paltry sixty pounds a-year, and the rich incumbent lives at his ease. Ah, Tony, what a prospect! What rare times we would have of it! To-morrow, when my father asks me to make choice of a profession, hang me if I do not say the Church."

"You are not fit for so sacred a calling, Godfrey; indeed you are not," said Anthony, fearful that his burlesquing cousin for once in his life was in earnest.

"I know that better than you can tell me, Tony, but 'tis such an easy way to get a living; I could enjoy such glorious indolence; could fish, and hunt, and shoot, and play the fiddle, and attend feasts and merry-makings, with such a happy consciousness of being found in the path of duty, that it would give a double zest to enjoyment. Now don't be envious, my dear demure cousin, and forestall me in my project. I am sure to gain my father's consent. It will save him so much trouble for the future."

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Algernon.

"Come, boys, dinner is waiting. My dear Anthony, after that important business is dispatched, I want to talk to you in the library upon a matter of serious importance, which I have, I fear, neglected too long. Nay, don't look alarmed; it is not to administer a scolding, or to question you in Greek or Latin; or to ask you how you have improved your time at school, for I take it for granted that you have both done your best, or I should have heard from Mr. Cunningham, who, they say, is the strictest disciplinarian in the kingdom."

Now, Anthony could not eat his dinner for thinking what his uncle had to say to him; but he had to wait patiently until that gentleman had discussed his bottle of wine; and it was not without a certain sinking of the heart that he rose to follow him to the library. Godfrey's curiosity was aroused; he fancied that it was to make some private inquiries as to his conduct at school, that his father wanted to speak alone with his cousin.

"May I come?"

"No, my boy. What I have to say to Anthony is for him alone."

"Humph!" said Godfrey; then whispering to Anthony as he passed, "No tales out of school, Tony," he sauntered into the garden.

"What ails you, Anthony?" said the good-natured uncle, as he took a seat by the table.

"I don't know," returned the lad; "I felt afraid"--he hesitated--

"Afraid of what?"

"That you were tired of me--wished me to leave you."

"I should much sooner be tired of myself. Don't you know, perverse boy, how dearly I love you;" and he put his arm round the stripling and drew him to his breast. "Godfrey himself is not more dear, son of my murdered Elinor--son of my heart."

There was a long pause; at length the Colonel said, "It was of your father that I wished to speak. We have let eight years pass away without holding the least intercourse with him; in this, I think we have been to blame. The first year you came to me I wrote to him twice, informing him how you were, and suggesting your future mode of education. To my first