There is a
good farm, a valuable mill, and a good, old, comfortable, straggling,
stone house."
"Very true, Miles, my dear fellow, and all as dear to me, you know, as
the apple of my eye--but _farmish_--young ladies like the good
things that comes from farms, but do not admire the homeliness of the
residence. I speak of young English ladies, in particular. Now, you
see, Major Merton is a field-officer, and that is having good rank in
a respectable profession, you know--I suppose you understand, Miles,
that the king puts most of his sons into the army, or navy--all this
makes a difference, you understand?"
"I understand nothing about it; what is it to me where the king of
England puts his sons?"
"I wish, my dear Miles, if the truth must be said, that you and I had
been a little less boyish, when we were boys, than happened to be the
case. It would have been all the better for us both."
"Well, I wish no such thing. A boy should be a boy, and a man a man. I
am content to have been a boy, while I was a boy. It is a fault in
this country, that boys fancy themselves men too soon."
"Ah! my dear fellow, you _will_ not, or _do_ not understand
me. What I mean is, that we were both precipitate in the choice of a
profession--I retired in time, but you persevere; that is all.
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