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42 toned in all his sentiments, from native generosity of disposition; he was strict in principle, from habit; he was too good and too honourable himself not to appreciate the uprightness and sincerity of his father. Francis, on the contrary, was lively, false, and uncertain; his own pleasure, interest, or even ease, were ever uppermost in his mind. It was not that he would not be kind, but it seldom came into his head to be so. That certain sign of intense selfishness—he never gave any one credit for a good motive, for he believed no one better than himself. He had an exaggerated opinion of his own talents; but his idea of ability was deceit. As there are some naturally deficient in the power of computation, others in an ear for harmony, so Francis Evelyn was utterly devoid of truth—he neither understood its moral beauty nor its actual utility. He felt no shame at detection—he only envied the discoverer's shrewdness, or his luck in finding a clew. He would neglect your wishes, wound your feelings,—partly, though, from very ignorance of their existence; while he would do even mean things to win a momentary applause. Robert was proud, but of extraneous circumstances—of his ancient lineage, his noble father; while the vanity of Francis centred in himself—he was vain of his person, his dress, or