, and we hew out to ourselves other reservoirs, from
which the first companions of our pilgrimage are excluded;--jealousies,
rivalries, envy, intervene to separate others from our side, until
none remain but those who are connected with us rather by habit than
predilection, or who, allied more in blood than in disposition, only
keep the old man company in his life, that they may not be forgotten at
his death--

Haec data poena diu viventibus.

Ah, Mr. Lovel! if it be your lot to reach the chill, cloudy, and
comfortless evening of life, you will remember the sorrows of your youth
as the light shadowy clouds that intercepted for a moment the beams
of the sun when it was rising. But I cram these words into your ears
against the stomach of your sense."

"I am sensible of your kindness," answered the youth; "but the wound
that is of recent infliction must always smart severely, and I should be
little comforted under my present calamity--forgive me for saying so--by
the conviction that life had nothing in reserve for me but a train of
successive sorrows. And permit me to add, you, Mr. Oldbuck, have
least reason of many men to take so gloomy a view of life. You have
a competent and easy fortune--are generally respected--may, in your own
phrase, vacare musis, indulge yourself in the researches to which your
taste addicts you; you may form your own society without doors--and
within you have the affectionate and sedulous attention of the nearest
relatives."

"Why, yes--the womankind, for womankind, are, thanks to my training, very
civil and tractable--do not disturb me in my morning studies--creep across
the floor with the stealthy pace of a cat, when it suits me to take a
nap in my easy-chair after dinner or tea. All this is very well; but I
want something to exchange ideas with--something to talk to."

"Then why do you not invite your nephew, Captain M'Intyre, who is
mentioned by every one as a fine spirited young fellow, to become a
member of your family?"

"Who?" exclaimed Monkbarns, "my nephew Hector?--the Hotspur of the
North? Why, Heaven love you, I would as soon invite a firebrand into my
stackyard. He's an Almanzor, a Chamont--has a Highland pedigree as long
as his claymore, and a claymore as long as the High Street of Fairport,
which he unsheathed upon the surgeon the last time he was at Fairport. I
expect him here one of these days; but I will keep him at staff's end, I
promise you. He an inm