address.

"Pedantic!" repeated her father.

"Yes! I say vain, pedantic!" cried Walter, working himself into a
passion. What on earth but the love of display could make him monopolize
the whole conversation?--What but pedantry could make him bring out those
anecdotes and allusions, and descriptions, or whatever you call them,
respecting every old wall or stupid plant in the country?

"I never thought you guilty of meanness before," said Lester gravely.

"Meanness!"

"Yes! for is it not mean to be jealous of superior acquirements, instead
of admiring them?"

"What has been the use of those acquirements? Has he benefited mankind by
them? Shew me the poet--the historian--the orator, and I will vield to
none of you; no, not to Madeline herself in homage of their genius: but
the mere creature of books--the dry and sterile collector of other men's
learning--no--no. What should I admire in such a machine of literature,
except a waste of perseverance?--And Madeline calls him handsome too!"

At this sudden turn from declamation to reproach, Lester laughed
outright; and his nephew, in high anger, rose and left the room.

"Who could have thought Walter so foolish?" said Madeline.

"Nay," observed Ellinor gently, "it is the folly of a kind heart, after