After a few moments’ pause, Vivian added, “You misunderstand, quite misunderstand me, if you think that I am not fond of my mother. I respect and love her with all my soul:--I should be a most ungrateful wretch if I did not. I did very wrong to speak as I did just now, of any little errors she may have made in my education; but, believe me, I would not have said so much to any one living but yourself, nor to you, but in strict confidence; and, after all, I don’t know whether I ought not to lay the blame of my faults on my masters more than on my poor mother.” “Lay the blame where we will,” said Russell, “remember, that the punishment will rest on ourselves. We may, with as much philosophic justice as possible, throw the blame of our faults on our parents and preceptors, and on the early mismanagement of our minds; yet, after we have made out our case in the abstract, to the perfect satisfaction of a jury of metaphysicians, when we come to _overt_ actions, all our judges, learned and unlearned, are so awed, by the ancient precedents and practice of society, and by the obsolete law of common sense, that they finish by pronouncing against us the barbarous sentence, that every man must suffer for his own faults.” “‘I hope I shall be able to bear it, my lord,’ as the English sailor said when the judge----But look out there! Let down that glass on your side of the carriage!” cried Vivian, starting forward. “There’s Vivian Hall!” “That fine old castle?” said Russell, looking out of the window. “No; but farther off to the left, don’t you see amongst the trees that house with wings?” “Ha! quite a new, modern house: I had always fancied that Vivian Hall was an old pile of building.” “So it was, till my father threw down the old hall, and built this new house.” “And a very handsome one it is.--Is it as good within as without?” “Quite, I think; but I’ll leave you to judge for yourself.--Are not those fine old trees in the park?”