"Let your majesty's heart be as easy about your son, as
mine is about my head: am I a man likely to give lessons in the idle
passion?"
Under the vigilant care of the philosopher, the prince grew up, in
the seclusion of the palace and its gardens. He had black slaves to
attend upon him- hideous mutes who knew nothing of love, or if they
did, had not words to communicate it. His mental endowments were the
peculiar care of Eben Bonabben, who sought to initiate him into the
abstruse lore of Egypt; but in this the prince made little progress,
and it was soon evident that he had no turn for philosophy.
He was, however, amazingly ductile for a youthful prince, ready to
follow any advice, and always guided by the last counsellor. He
suppressed his yawns, and listened patiently to the long and learned
discourses of Eben Bonabben, from which he imbibed a smattering of
various kinds of knowledge, and thus happily attained his twentieth
year, a miracle of princely wisdom- but totally ignorant of love.
About this time, however, a change came over the conduct of the
prince. He completely abandoned his studies, and took to strolling
about the gardens, and musing by the side of the fountains. He had
been taught a little music among his various accomplishments; it now
engrossed a great part of his time, and a turn for poetry became
apparent. The sage Eben Bonabben took the alarm, and endeavored to
work these idle humors out of him by a severe course of algebra; but
the prince turned from it with distaste.
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