“Well, sir, in short, I became the purchaser of the place you have just seen, and I now think that, after all, there is more happiness in reality than romance: like the laverock, here will I build my nest,-- ‘Here give my weary spirit rest, And raise my low-pitched thoughts above Earth, or what poor mortals love.’” “And your son,” said Clarence, “has he reformed?” “Oh, yes,” answered Cole. “For my part, I believe the mind is less evil than people say it is; its great characteristic is imitation, and it will imitate the good as well as the bad, if we will set the example. I thank Heaven, sir, that my boy now might go from Dan to Beersheba and not filch a groat by the way.” “What do you intend him for?” said Clarence. “Why, he loves adventure, and, faith, I can’t break him of that, for I love it too; so I think I shall get him a commission in the army, in order to give him a fitting and legitimate sphere wherein to indulge his propensities.” “You could not do better,” said Clarence. “But your fine sister, what says she to your amendment?” “Oh! she wrote me a long letter of congratulation upon it and every other summer she is graciously pleased to pay me a visit of three months long; at which time, I observe, that poor Lucy is unusually smart and uncomfortable. We sit in the best room, and turn out the dogs; my father-in-law smokes his pipe in the arbour, instead of the drawing-room; and I receive sundry hints, all in vain, on the propriety of dressing for dinner. In return for these attentions on our part, my sister invariably brings my boy a present of a pair of white gloves, and my wife a French ribbon of the newest pattern; in the evening, instead of my reading Shakspeare, she tells us anecdotes of high life, and, when she goes away, she gives us, in return for our hospitality, a very general and very gingerly invitation to her house. Lucy sometimes talks to me about accepting it; but I turn a deaf ear to all such overtures, and so we continue much better friends than we should be if we saw more of each other.” “And how long has your father-in-law been with you?” “Ever since we have been here. He gave up his farm, and cultivates mine for me; for I know nothing of those agricultural matters. I made his coming a little surprise, in order to please Lucy: you should have witnessed their meeting.” “I think I have now learned all particulars,” said Clarence; “it only remains for me to congratulate you: but are you, in truth, never tired of the monotony and sameness of domestic life?” “Yes! and then I do, as I have just done, saddle Little John, and go on an excursion of three or four days, or even weeks, just as the whim seizes me; for I never return till I am driven back by the yearning for home, and the feeling that after all one’s wanderings there is no place like it. Whether in private life or public, sir, in parting with a little of one’s liberty one gets a great deal of comfort in exchange.”