entirely owing to this deficiency in the scheme of things that Arthur had ever brought any one into trouble besides himself.  He was nothing if not good-natured; and all his pictures of the future, when he should come into the estate, were made up of a prosperous, contented tenantry, adoring their landlord, who would be the model of an English gentleman—­mansion in first-rate order, all elegance and high taste—­jolly housekeeping, finest stud in Loamshire—­purse open to all public objects—­in short, everything as different as possible from what was now associated with the name of Donnithorne.  And one of the first good actions he would perform in that future should be to increase Irwine’s income for the vicarage of Hayslope, so that he might keep a carriage for his mother and sisters.  His hearty affection for the rector dated from the age of frocks and trousers.  It was an affection partly filial, partly fraternal—­fraternal enough to make him like Irwine’s company better than that of most younger men, and filial enough to make him shrink strongly from incurring Irwine’s disapprobation.

You perceive that Arthur Donnithorne was “a good fellow”—­all his college friends thought him such.  He couldn’t bear to see any one uncomfortable; he would have been sorry even in his angriest moods for any harm to happen to his grandfather; and his Aunt Lydia herself had the benefit of that soft-heartedness which he bore towards the whole sex.  Whether he would have self-mastery enough to be always as harmless and purely beneficent as his good-nature led him to desire, was a question that no one had yet decided against him; he was but twenty-one, you remember, and we don’t inquire too closely into character in the case of a handsome generous young fellow, who will have property enough to support numerous peccadilloes—­who, if he should unfortunately break a man’s legs in his rash driving, will be able to pension him handsomely; or if he should happen to spoil a woman’s existence for her, will make it up to her with expensive bon-bons, packed up and directed by his own hand.  It would be ridiculous to be prying and analytic in such cases, as if one were inquiring into the character of a confidential clerk.  We use round, general, gentlemanly epithets about a young man of birth and fortune; and ladies, with that fine intuition which is the distinguishing attribute of their sex, see at once that he is “nice.”  The chances are that he will go through life without scandalizing any one; a seaworthy vessel that no one would refuse to insure.  Ships, certainly, are liable to casualties, which sometimes make terribly evident some flaw in their construction that would never have been discoverable in smooth water; and many a “good fellow,” through a disastrous combination of circumstances, has undergone a like betrayal.

But we have no fair ground for entertaining unfavourable auguries concerning Arthur Donnithorne, who this morning proves himself capable of a prudent resolution founded on conscience.  One thing is clear:  Nature has taken care that he shall never go far astray with perfect comfort and satisfaction to himself; he will never get beyond that border-land of sin, where he will be perpetually harassed by assaults from the other side of the boundary.  He will never be a courtier of Vice, and wear her orders in his button-hole.