CHAPTER VIII. THE BROTHERS. "But smiled to hear the creatures he had known Ir was not till Sunday, that Lily's eager wish was fulfilled of introducing her friend and her brothers, but, as she might have foreseen, their first meeting did not make the perfections of either party very clear to the other. Claude never spoke to strangers more than he could help, Maurice and Reginald were in the room only a short time, so that the result of Miss Weston's observations when communicated in reply to Lily's eager enquiries, was only that Claude was very like his father and eldest brother, Reginald, very handsome, and Maurice looked like a very funny fellow. On Monday, Reginald and Maurice were required to learn, what they had always refused to acknowledge, that the holidays were not intended to be spent in idleness. A portion of each morning was to be devoted to study, Claude having undertaken the task of tutor; and hard work he found it-and much did Lily pity him, when, as not unfrequently happened, the summons to the children's dinner would bring him from the study looking thoroughly fagged, Maurice in so sulky a mood that he would hardly deign to open his lips, Reginald, talking fast enough indeed, but only to murmur at his duties in terms, which, though they made every one laugh, were painful to hear. Then Claude would take his brothers back to the study, and not appear for an hour or more, and when he did come forth, it was with a bad headache. Sometimes, as if to show that it was only through their own fault that their tasks were wearisome, one or both boys would finish quite early, when Reginald would betake himself to the school-room and employ his idle time in making it nearly impossible for Ada and Phyllis to learn, by talking, laughing, teazing the canary, overturning every thing in pursuing wasps, making Emily fretful by his disobedience, and then laughing at her, and in short, proving his right to the title he had given himself at the end of the only letter he had written since he first went to school, and which he had subscribed, "Your affectionate bother, R. Mohun." So that, for their own sake, all would have preferred the inattentive mornings. Lily often tried to persuade Claude to allow her to tell her father how troublesome the boys were, but never with any effect. He once took up a book he had been using with them, and pointing to the name in the first page in writing which Lily knew full well, "Henry Mohun," she perceived that he meant to convince her that it was useless to try to dissuade him, as he thought the patience and forbearance his brother had shown to him, must be repaid by his not shrinking from the task he had imposed upon himself with his young brothers, though he was often obliged to sit up part of the night to pursue his own studies as much as he thought necessary. If Claude had rather injudiciously talked too much to Lilias of "her principle," and thus kept it alive in her mind, yet his example might have made its fallacy evident; she believed that what she called love, had been the turning point in his character, that it had been his earnest desire to follow in Henry's steps, and so try to comfort his father for his loss, that had roused him from his indolence, but she was beginning to see that nothing but a sense of duty could have kept up the power of that first impulse for six years. Lily began to enter a little into his principle, and many things that occurred during these holidays, made her mistrust her former judgment. She saw that without the unvarying principle of right and wrong, fraternal love itself would fail in outward acts and words. Forbearance, though undeniably a branch of love, could not exist without constant remembrance of duty, and which of them did not sometimes fail in kindness, meekness, and patience? Did Emily show that softness, which was her most agreeable characteristic, in her whining reproofs, in her complaints that "no one listened to a word she said," in her refusal to do justice even to those who had vainly been seeking for peace? Did Lily herself show any of her much valued love, by the sharp manner in which she scolded the boys for roughness towards herself? or for language often used by them on purpose to make her displeasure a matter of amusement? She saw that her want of command of temper was a failure both in love and duty, and when irritated, the thought of duty came sooner to her aid, than the feeling of love. And Maurice and Reginald were really very provoking. Maurice loved no amusement better than teazing his sisters, and this was almost the only thing in which Reginald agreed with him; Reginald was affectionate, but too reckless and violent not to be very troublesome, and he too often flew into a passion if Maurice attempted to laugh at him; the little girls were often frightened and made unhappy ; Phyllis would scream and roar, and Ada would come sobbing to Emily to be comforted after some rudeness of Reginald's. It was not very often that quarrels went so far, but many a time in thought, word, and deed, was the rule of love transgressed, and more than once did Emily feel ready to give up all her dignity, to have Eleanor's hand over the boys once more. Claude finding that he could do much to prevent mischief, took care not to leave the two boys long together with the elder girls. They were far more inoffensive when separate, as Maurice never practised his tormenting tricks when no one was present to laugh with him, and Reginald was very kind to Phyllis and Ada, although somewhat rude. "The Westons are going to dine here to-day, and Robert," said Emily, one morning at breakfast. Claude and Maurice both looked blank. "I persuaded Papa to ask the Westons," said Lily, "because I am determined that Claude shall like Alethea." "You must expect that I shall not, you have given me so many orders on the subject," said Claude. "Take care it has not the same effect as to tell Maurice to like a book," said Emily, "nothing makes his aversion so certain." "Except when he takes it up by mistake, and forgets that it has been recommended to him," said Claude. "Take care, Redgie, with your knife, don't put out my eyes in your ardour against that wretched wasp. Wat Greenwood may well say there is a terrible sight of waspses this year." 66 I killed twenty-nine yesterday," said Reginald. "And I will tell you what I saw," said Phyllis, "I was picking up apples, and the wasps were flying all round, and there came a hornet." 66 Vespa Crabro!" cried Maurice, “Oh! I must have one !" "Well, what of the hornet?" said Mr. Mohun. "I'll tell you what," resumed Phyllis, “he saw a wasp flying, and so he went up in the air, and pounced on the poor wasp as the hawk did on Jane's bantam. So then he hung himself up to the branch of a tree by one of his legs, and held the wasp with the other five, and began to pack it up. First he bit off the yellow tail, then the legs, and threw them away, and then there was nothing left but the head, and so he flew away with it to his nest." |