At ten years old he went to Eton; and here his natural talents, and his animated disposition, soon made him a favourite with his master and with his companions. Now, for almost the first time, Eleanor tasted unalloyed happiness. She was proud of her son; she heard him praised by his superiors; she knew he was loved by his comrades; and when he returned for the holidays, she looked on him with a thrill of rapture, such as she had never expected to feel again. Of course no indulgence could be too great for her good, her clever boy. Every wish was gratified, every request forestalled. For some years she was comparatively a happy woman. Walter increased in health and strength, and beauty and talents. He was impetuous, but that was natural in youth; he could not bear to be thwarted, but then his wishes were generally the offspring of some amiable feeling. If he saw distress, his was the open hand to relieve it. Though he might perhaps give a guinea to a ragged impostor, and have not a sixpence left to bestow on a starving and industrious family, this was only the excess of a generous impulse. How could he be blamed for yielding to it? He left Eton with the character of an excellent scholar, and of a fine fellow. He passed through his career at Oxford with more than common credit, and his friends augured that he might one day make a figure in public life. His future prospects were brilliant, and he was in possession of a fortune which rendered him independent of any profession, but which was not sufficient to stand in lieu of a profession. A large landed property, well attended to, and well administered, is occupation in itself, and affords scope for great utility; but there is a certain medium which prevents exertion, and enables a person to pass a life of most complete idleness. Such was Walter Fitz-Eustace’s situation, when at twenty-one he plunged into the vortex of London dissipation, with an ardent imagination, impetuous temper, amiable, but ill-regulated feelings, and a strong determined will, which had never been controlled, and would never brook control. These were faults which might lead to much mischief, but which could not make him less beloved by a doting mother. This was a disposition to make him fearfully the slave of love, should it once gain dominion over him. However, he returned to his adoring mother in the summer with heart as light, and eyes as gay and careless, as when he left her. She was overjoyed to have him once more by her side; once more to lean on his arm when she took her evening stroll, and to look up in his beaming face, and trace in those noble features, the forms, the expression of his father’s; to listen to his animated accounts of debates in Parliament; to see his cheek glow, and his eye flash fire as he talked of liberty, of justice; and to anticipate the moment when the talents, of which there seemed to be so rich a promise, might excite admiration in the senate. CHAPTER II.