den and indisputable proof of it. But I knew that the seed
was in him, and therefore I have not latterly invited him to Raynham.
School, and the corruption there, will bear its fruits sooner or later.
I could advise you, Thompson, what to do with him: it would be my plan."

Mr. Thompson murmured, like a true courtier, that he should esteem it
an honour to be favoured with Sir Austin Feverel's advice: secretly
resolute, like a true Briton, to follow his own.

"Let him, then," continued the baronet, "see vice in its nakedness.
While he has yet some innocence, nauseate him! Vice, taken little
by little, usurps gradually the whole creature. My counsel to you,
Thompson, would be, to drag him through the sinks of town."

Mr. Thompson began to blink again.

"Oh, I shall punish him, Sir Austin! Do not fear me, air. I have no
tenderness for vice."

"That is not what is wanted, Thompson. You mistake me. He should be
dealt with gently. Heavens! do you hope to make him hate vice by making
him a martyr for its sake? You must descend from the pedestal of age to
become his Mentor: cause him to see how certainly and pitilessly vice
itself punishes: accompany him into its haunts"--

"Over town?" broke forth Mr. Thompson.

"Over town," said the baronet.

"And depend upon it," he added, "that, until fathers act thoroughly up
to their duty, we shall see the sights we see in great cities, and hear
the tales we hear in little villages, with death and calamity in our
homes, and a legacy of sorrow and shame to the generations to come. I
do aver," he exclaimed, becoming excited, "that, if it were not for
the duty to my son, and the hope I cherish in him, I, seeing the
accumulation of misery we are handing down to an innocent posterity--to
whom, through our sin, the fresh breath of life will be foul--I--yes!
I would hide my name! For whither are we tending? What home is pure
absolutely? What cannot our doctors and lawyers tell us?"

Mr. Thompson acquiesced significantly.

"And what is to come of this?" Sir Austin continued. "When the sins of
the fathers are multiplied by the sons, is not perdition the final
sum of things? And is not life, the boon of heaven, growing to be the
devil's game utterly? But for my son, I would hide my name. I would not
bequeath it to be cursed by them that walk above my grave!"

This was indeed a terrible view of existence. Mr. Thompson felt uneasy.
There was a dignity in his client, an impressiveness in h