ohler's translation.

(2) Words coined by Mr. Caxton from (Greek word), "disposed to roaming,"
and (Greek word), "to export, to alienate."

CHAPTER II.

This compact made, my father roused himself from all his studies,
devoted his whole thoughts to me, sought with all his gentle wisdom to
wean me imperceptibly from my one fixed, tyrannical idea, ranged through
his wide pharmacy of books for such medicaments as might alter the
system of my thoughts. And little thought he that his very tenderness
and wisdom worked against him, for at each new instance of either my
heart called aloud, "Is it not that thy tenderness may be repaid, and
thy wisdom be known abroad, that I go from thee into the strange land, O
my father?"

And the two months expired, and my father saw that the magnet had turned
unalterably to the loadstone in the Great Australasian Bight; and he
said to me, "Go, and comfort your mother. I have told her your wish,
and authorized it by my consent, for I believe now that it is for your
good."

I found my mother in the little room she had appropriated to herself
next my father's study. And in that room there was a pathos which I have
no words to express; for my mother's meek, gentle, womanly soul spoke
there, so that it was the Home of Home. The care with which she had
transplanted from the brick house, and lovingly arranged, all the humble
memorials of old times dear to her affections,--the black silhouette of
my father's profile cut in paper, in the full pomp of academics, cap and
gown (how had he ever consented to sit for it?), framed and glazed in
the place of honor over the little hearth; and boyish sketches of mine
at the Hellenic Institute, first essays in sepia and Indian ink,
to animate the walls, and bring her back, when she sat there in the
twilight, musing alone, to sunny hours, when Sisty and the young mother
threw daisies at each other; and covered with a great glass: shade, and
dusted each day with her own hand, the flower-pot Sisty had bought with
the proceeds of the domino-box on that memorable occasion on which
he had learned "how bad deeds are repaired with good." There, in
one corner, stood the little cottage piano which I remembered all
my life,--old-fashioned, and with the jingling voice of approaching
decrepitude, but still associated with such melodies as, after
childhood, we hear never more! And in the modest hanging shelves, which
looked so gay with ribbons and tassels and silk