It is so unlucky, he is gone from home for a short time.

You can't think how kind and pleasant he is,--the most amiable old man in the world; just such a man as Bernardin St.Pierre would have loved to describe." "Agreeable, no doubt, but dull--good curates generally are." "Dull?
not the least; cheerful even to playfulness, and full of information.

He has been so good to me about books; indeed, I have learned a great deal from him." "I dare say he is an admirable judge of sermons." "But Mr.Aubrey is not severe," persisted Evelyn, earnestly; "he is very fond of Italian literature, for instance; we are reading Tasso together." "Oh! pity he is old--I think you said he was old.

Perhaps there is a son, the image of the sire ?" "Oh, no," said Evelyn, laughing innocently; "Mr.Aubrey never married." "And where does the old gentleman live ?" "Come a little this way; there, you can just see the roof of his house, close by the church." "I see; it is _tant soit peu triste_ to have the church so near you." "_Do_ you think so?
Ah, but you have not seen it; it is the prettiest church in the county; and the little burial-ground--so quiet, so shut in; I feel better every time I pass it.

Some places breathe of religion." "You are poetical, my dear little friend." Evelyn, who _had_ poetry in her nature, and therefore sometimes it broke out in her simple language, coloured and felt half-ashamed.
"It is a favourite walk with my mother," said she, apologetically; "she often spends hours there alone: and so, perhaps, I think it a prettier spot than others may.