“What a villain!” exclaimed I.

“Yes, you may so.  Jack; but who made him such a villain but his foolish doting mother?  Had I done him justice, had I checked him when young, had I brought him up as I ought to have done, he might now have been a happiness and a blessing to his mother.  I was the person to blame, not he; and many years of anguish have I lamented my folly and my wretchedness.”

“You loved him too much, mother, but it was a fault on the right side.”

“No, Jack, that is an error of yours; it was a fault on the wrong side.  There is no credit to a mother in loving her children, for she cannot help it.  It is a natural instinct implanted in the mother’s heart by the Almighty, and in following this instinct we do no more than the beasts of the field.  The duty of a mother is to check that feeling as far as it interferes with the happiness and well-doing of her children, and it is her duty to do so, and to punish herself in correcting her children.  Jack, it is a selfish feeling which induces mothers to spoil their children.”

“At all events my mother has never spoiled me,” replied I.

“No, Jack, she has not; but observe the consequence.  You said just now that excessive tenderness was a fault on the right side; now, how completely have you proved the contrary!  I do not intend to defend your mother’s conduct toward you; she has been unkind to you in your childhood, and has never shown the affection that a mother ought; but is not her fault a fault on the right side?  Jack, you recollect my saying ‘what a difference,’ when you told me what you had done for your mother; I then referred to my son and to you.  I indulged him in everything, sacrificed everything, and he robbed me and left me a beggar.  Your mother has been severe upon you, and yet the first time you have the means of showing your duty you give her all the money you have in the world.  You mother may not be right, Jack, but I was dreadfully wrong, and the result has proved it.”

“Well, mother, go on, pray.”

“My story is now soon told.  I struggled on how I could for more than two years by selling my furniture and a few ornaments, then the blow came.  When I heard it I would not remain in the town; I left for London, picked up my living how I could and where I could, till at last I came down here.  Time was as a dream; reflection was too painful.  I felt that it was all my fault, all my own doing.  My heart became hardened, and continued so till I loved you, Jack; and now I have better feelings, at least I think so.”

“But, mother, what was the blow?  Is he dead?”

“Yes, Jack, dead—­dead on the gibbet.  He was hanged for piracy at Port Royal, Jamaica.  Jack,” said Nanny, seizing my hand, and pressing it in her long fingers, “this is a secret; recollect, a secret deep as the grave; promise me, as you hope for heaven!”

“I do, mother, as I hope for heaven.”

“Now, Jack, leave me.  Good-by.  You will come and see me when you return, and never bring this subject up again.  Bless you, my child! bless you!”