bing the whole man, as had been the
case with himself in middle life.

Somewhat of the calm of old age had begun to fall on the Earl, and he
had latterly been wont to think more deeply. These trifles could not
have spoken to his heart save for their connexion with his son, and
even Louis's tastes would have worn out with habit, had it not been for
the radiance permanent in his own mind, namely, the thankful, adoring
love that finds the true brightness in "whatsoever things are pure,
whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report."
This spirit it was which had kept his heart fresh, his spirit youthful,
and changed constitutional versatility into a power of hearty
adaptation to the least congenial tastes.

Gentleness, affection, humility, and refinement were in his nature.
Mrs. Frost had trained these qualities into the beauty of Christian
graces; and Mrs. Ponsonby and her daughter had taught him to bring his
high principles to supply that which was wanting. Indolence of will,
facility of disposition, unsteadiness of purpose, inconsiderate
impulses without perseverance, had all betokened an inherent weakness,
which the Earl's cure, ambition, had been powerless to remedy; but duty
had been effectual in drawing strength out of what had been feeble by
nature. It was religion that had made a man of Louis; and his father
saw and owned it, no longer as merely the woman's guide in life and the
man's resource chiefly in death, to be respected and moderately
attended to, but never so as to interfere unreasonably with the world.
No; he had learnt that it was the only sure and sound moving-spring: he
knew it as his son's strengthening, brightening thread of life; and
began to perceive that his own course might have been less gloomy and
less harsh, devoid of such dark strands, had he held the right clue.
The contrast brought back some lines which, without marking, he had
heard Louis and his aunt reading together, and, albeit little wont to
look into his son's books, he was so much haunted by the rhythm that he
rose and searched them out--

Yea, mark him well, ye cold and proud,
Bewildered in a heartless crowd,
Starting and turning pale
At rumour's angry din:
No storm can now assail
The charm he bears within.
Rejoicing still, and doing good,
And with the thought of God imbued,
No glare of high estate,