If Seymour had not been able to write elegant prose, and gain prizes, my constancy would have been in great danger. But as it was, there was intellectuality on both sides; and I had only to weigh talent against strength of mind and extensive information, throwing a great many pleasant make-weights beside into the scale with the first. My feelings toward Seymour were now called into fresh vigour by a letter from him, informing my mother that instead of having a monument made on purpose for his beloved parent, which would not have been ready for a considerable time, he had purchased one which had been nearly finished for a gentleman who died before it was completed, and who had intended it for his wife, and which the sculptor had been desired by the heir-at-law not to trouble himself to complete. This monument Pendarves said had met all his ideas of simple and classical beauty, and it would soon be ready for the inscription. This, he added, he had also enclosed for the approbation of my mother and "his cousin Helen," as he called me; considering the former as the representative of his mother, and _me_ as the only woman after her whom he wished to consult on any of his plans. We were excessively affected at the receipt of this letter; and De Walden, who was present, appeared distressed at the sight of our emotion. "What do you think of the inscription, my dear!" asked my mother. "Ask Mr. De Walden what he thinks of it," I replied. It was as follows: HERE LIETH ALL THAT WAS MORTAL OF THE LADY HELEN PENDARVES. READER, PITY ONLY HER SURVIVORS. On the reverse side were to be the following words:-- THIS MONUMENT IS ERECTED TO HER MEMORY AS A TOKEN OF LOVE AND GRATITUDE, BY HER ONLY CHILD, WHOSE PROUDEST BOAST IT WILL ALWAYS BE, THAT HE WAS THE SON OF SUCH A WOMAN. As I expected, he exclaimed in its praise; and as he was a great _theorizer_, he added much that delighted me, and much that consequently made my mother uncomfortable. "It is," cried he, "simple and comprehensive. Oh! I must know him: simple virtues, simple manners, and simple heart. Pompous writers not much real feeling--not _true_. I must know Pendarves; a good son makes a good friend, good every thing. When shall I see him?" My mother looked grave, and I saw that the observant eye of De Walden remarked our contrary emotions with surprise, if not with uneasiness. "Then, I may tell Pendarves that you like the inscription; may I, Helen?" said my mother. "Oh yes, that it is every thing I could wish;" and she retired to write. When she returned, it was evident that she had been weeping violently; and De Walden, without saying a word, took her hand and pressed it respectfully to his lips.