t or encouraged
you in wrong things. Unluckily it's too late;--only, I hope that you
already see, as I do, that the things I mean lead to evil far greater
than we ever used to dream of.

"Good-bye now, old fellow! Do write to me soon, and forgive me, and
believe me ever--Your most affectionate, HORACE UPTON."

"P.S.--Is that jolly little Vernon going back to school with you this
time? I remember seeing him running about the shore with my poor cousin,
when you were a home-boarder, and thinking what a nice little chap he
looked. I hope you'll look after him as a brother should, and keep him
out of mischief."

Eric folded the letter sadly, and put it into his pocket; he didn't
often show them his school letters, because, like this one, they often
contained allusions to things which he did not like his aunt to know.
The thought of Upton's leaving him made him quite unhappy, and he wrote
him a long letter by that post, indignantly denying the supposition that
his friendship had ever done him anything but good.

The postscript about Vernon suggested a thought that had often been in
his mind. He could not but shudder in himself, when he thought of that
bright little brother of his being initiated in the mysteries of evil
which he himself had learnt, and sinking like himself into slow
degeneracy of heart and life. It puzzled and perplexed him, and at last
he determined to open his heart, partially at least, in a letter to Mr.
Rose. The master fully understood his doubts, and wrote him the
following reply:--

"My dear Eric--I have just received your letter about your brother
Vernon, and I think that it does you honor. I will briefly give you my
own opinion.

"You mean, no doubt, that, from your own experience, you fear that
Vernon will hear at school many things which will shock his modesty, and
much language which is evil and blasphemous; you fear that he will meet
with many bad examples, and learn to look on God and godliness in a way
far different from that to which he has been accustomed at home. You
fear, in short, that he must pass through the same painful temptations
to which you have yourself been subjected; to which, perhaps, you have
even succumbed.

"Well, Eric, this is all true. Yet, knowing this, I say, by all means
let Vernon come to Roslyn. The innocence of mere ignorance is a poor
thing; it _cannot_, under any circumstances, be permanent, nor is it at
all valuable as a foundation of character. The true p