Teresa was trying to teach her first-born to read; and seated by the open window of the villa, in her neat, not precise, _dishabille_--with the little boy's delicate, yet bold and healthy countenance looking up fearlessly at hers, while she was endeavouring to initiate him--half gravely, half laughingly--into the mysteries of monosyllables, the pretty boy and the fair young mother made a delightful picture.

De Montaigne was reading the Essays of his celebrated namesake, in whom he boasted, I know not with what justice, to claim an ancestor.

From time to time he looked from the page to take a glance at the progress of his heir, and keep up with the march of intellect.

But he did not interfere with the maternal lecture; he was wise enough to know that there is a kind of sympathy between a child and a mother, which is worth all the grave superiority of a father in making learning palatable to young years.

He was far too clever a man not to despise all the systems of forcing infants under knowledge-frames, which are the present fashion.