: Mabel: A Novel. Vol. 2 (of 3) by Newby C J Mrs - Fiction

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to study, this was so much opposed by my more prudent father, that I gave up my own inclinations, and entered into a lucrative mercantile establishment in London. Not long after this, I married, and then it appeared to me, to be my duty to devote myself entirely to business, in order that I might acquire wealth for my wife, and increasing family--but I gave myself too rigidly to the task--I gave myself no ease--always fearing that I longed for it, only from the desire for selfish indulgence. The consequence has been that my family has been educated in a manner of which I strongly disapprove--and, alas! I feel the evil is so great as to require something stronger even than a father's displeasure to remedy it."

Mr. Villars sighed, and then continued--

"In the short intervals of business, I noted down, from time to time, scenes which were drawn either from real life, or my own fancy--together with numerous remarks on the manners of my own times, which I thought might be amusing--pining always to indulge what I falsely believed to be a talent.

"How often desired blessings bring a curse. A few years since my speculations were successful beyond my expectations, and I found myself enabled to retire from business with a good conscience. This place was the scene of my happy boyhood, and of my school days, and here I resolved to settle, since it offered pleasures suited to us all.

"With the eagerness of a schoolboy I fitted up this study; it was the very perfection of my taste, it contains every book I take any pleasure in, and yet," he said, looking gloomily round him, "it has been to me the scene of greater misery than even you, seemingly deprived of almost every blessing, can calculate upon.

"Secure as I believed of the interest of my family, for year after year of, to me, heavy toil had, I believe, purchased it beyond a doubt. I thought I would prepare them a treat, and so set about collecting my scattered writings, and forming them into a whole, promising them a reading every Saturday of what I had done in the week.

"I never shall forget the first Saturday evening. You have, I dare say, often heard that an author's vanity is capable of blinding him to the opinions of others. I cannot understand the feeling myself, and I was not slow in perceiving that my book soon failed to interest--but I tire you."

"You pain, but interest me," replied Mabel.

"Well, it is hard to believe that one's composition is too bad to interest those whose affection ought to make them indulgent to the dullest of our pursuits; but so it was; they eagerly courted any other Saturday engagement, and when they did come, they yawned or whispered over their work, and seemed so completely wearied with my reading that one day I threw down the book, and refused to continue. I forget what followed, but I know I was never asked to resume my readings. From that time I have been more and more alone, and I am sorry to confess that, after years of well rewarded toil, I find life losing interest with me."

Mabel started at the last words; there was an ominous meaning in them, that terrified her--while she watched him now pacing the room again, with a disturbed air, muttering exclamations of despair. She hastened to interrupt him.

"How very much I should like to hear your manuscript. Would you have patience to read it to me?"

Mr. Villars turned and looked full upon her; but she repeated her request eagerly. She saw the coming of that mental cloud, which has obscured many a noble intellect, and her eyes sparkled as she saw him yielding to her request, and that the dawn of hope was again upon the face of the disappointed student.

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