commanded on the Cork station, and this man had taken up a sort of trade of being executor to people, and he contrived to wind himself sadly about the Admiral; and after the affairs were all looked into, and the executor's legacy paid, there was really, as I was saying, but a poor remainder for Sir Charles. In the mean time he had, it was well known, spent a good deal of money himself, thinking he was sure of a fine fortune from the Admiral; and, in short, he was but a poor young baronet, at least compared to what he had always thought he was to be.

"He had met with these Spankies-in the course of the very fishing excursion, I rather think, you were talking of-and now away he went again to the Lakecountry, and the first news we had was that every thing was arranged for a wedding between him and the rich Liverpool man's only daughter. My brother and Barbara went over to Windermere, and were present at the ceremony, and the young people came soon after to Little-Pyesworth, and began to keep house in the same dashing way the Admiral had done, or perhaps even rather more extravagantly.

But

what sort of a folly is it to build upon the notion of a mercantile person's wealth! In the course of time old Spankie went all to shivers; and since then, to be sure, Sir Charles and Lady Catline have been obliged to make a great change in their way of living.

"Well, sir, it was not long after the failure, before Sir Charles first began to take up with the same religious notions that poor Barbara had betrayed her great fondness of, long ere then; and ever since, you know, we have heard of nothing but Missionary Societies, and Bible Societies, and Tract Societies, and Travelling Ministers, and Sunday Schools, and all the rest of it. But as for Barbara, I sometimes think 'tis after all, a mercy that she has found something to occupy so much of her time and thoughts-and then, my dear Mr. Dalton, there is such a deal that is very good and amiable about her ways of going on, though I cannot for one be persuaded that it is at all neccessary to

carry things quite so far. Poor thing, I am sure I sometimes think she must be in the right, and I in the wrong, when I see her working her fingers off for poor old people and children, in the hardest season of winter."

"Nay, nay," says the Vicar, "this is assuredly being too tender-conscienced. Why, my dear madam, who can believe that it is either the business or the duty of a lady in Miss Dalton's situation to spend her time in the hemming of flannel petticoats? Far wiser and far kinder, too, to employ the poor that can work, in working for those that cannot. But although it be a mistake, God forbid that we should not reverence the amiable feelings from which it arises."

and

"God forbid that, indeed," quoth the old lady. "Heavens, what a difference between such a creature as my niece, and that sister-in-law of hers, for example-a talking, chattering, idle, gaudy fool, that never does a single turn either for her own family, or for her poor neighbours, but sits at home mum, like a dormouse, devouring silly novels and reviews from morning till night, and then comes abroad with a tongue that goes like a mill-clack after a thaw; she's bringing up that second Miss of hers, her own namesake, to be just such another. But the elder one, as you must have noticed, takes more after the father. She is a wonderful favourite with our Barbara; but I am sure I don't believe one half of her serious speeches can be sincere; for 'tis not natural, Mr. Dalton. I have no notion of your devout misses in their teens. Lord bless me! what can be more absurd? one's heart is all in such a whirl and bustle at that time of day."

Here the Vicar smiled a little. Upon my word, Miss Betty," said he, "when a comely young girl takes such a turn, it may be great uncharitableness, but I can scarce ever help thinking that it is only for want of some pretty young fellow to whisper it out of her in the course of a week, and put any thing he pleases in its place."

The old lady tapped her snuff-box with a smile; rather tending to the disdainful, and then said, after dividing her pinch into three or four very deliberate instalments, "Upon my word, Mr. John, I think even the parsons a among you seem to have a very sweet opinion of themselves."

With that she rung for her maid, (who, pour pa "enthèse, was at no great distance all this while) and di missed the Vicar with another very cordial shake of her hand.

CHAPTER XIII.

REGINALD, Chisney, and the Vicar also, had done ample justice to their cold pasty and muffins next morning, ere they were invited by Mr. Bishop, in propria persona, to visit the Squire in his bed-room. They found the old gentleman lying in great state, with a night-cap as tall as Lord Peter's triple crown in the old prints to the Tale of a Tub, a pot of chocolate simmering over a spirit lamp on his night-table, and a good fire of rifted pine-root shedding a warm blaze upon his bed-curtains. The room was a picturesque one ;-its lofty roof, divided into innumerable small compartments, exhibited in each of them some old Lancastrian coat of arms; its walls were hung with tapestry, representing some of the most grotesque attitudes in the Duke of Newcastle's horsemanship; one huge dark pannel over the mantelpiece was occupied by a star-shaped ornament, the centre thereof being a yeomanry helmet of lackered leather, with pewter cheek-pieces-and the radii a motley groupe of rapiers, bayonets, daggers, and broad-swords. A tall old French looking-glass set in frame-work of chased silver-a relic of the ambassadorial splendour of some defunct Dalton--was con

spicuous in one corner; and from another stared a flashy water-coloured portrait of a favourite pointerbitch.

66

Ha!" said the old man when they entered his dormitory, "and so you are all booted and ready for the road? You might have staid a single day more with me, I think, John Dalton, if it were but to console me for losing these sparks so soon. Well, ods my life, 'tis a long look now back to the morning, when I came into this very room to take farewell of my own good father on setting off for Alma Mater! And yet as I live, cousin Vicar, it seems as if it were not so long ago neither. God bless my soul, I remember every thing that happened. There-just where Mr. Frederick is standing-there was my mother, rest her kind soul, with a very doleful face I promise ye, and a fine new prayer-book, that she had got ready for me, in her hands. And here, ay, here in this very bed, sirs, lay the good Squire, setting the best front on the thing he could; but sorely his hand shook, for all that, when he squeezed mine. Ah, cousin John, little did I think it was the last time I was ever to see him he was ailing, but he was barely forty. What a melancholy home-coming was mine-all the house in lamentation-my mother, a widow, poor soul-and Betty running out to meet me with a heart like to break. Ah, my young friends, it had been a merry household that was broken up that day! God bless you, my good lads-you'll perhaps never see all you are parting with to-day again-but what avails speaking of such things? Be good boys,-and fear God and honour the King, my dears, and keep light hearts as long as you can, and take the world while it is before ye; for its face, mayhap, won't always be quite so bright as it is now."

66

Indeed, indeed, my dear sir," said the Vicar of Lannwell, "I trust our young friends will not forget these things, when they are far away from us. I trust Reginald will come back unspoiled to us, and enjoy a VOL. I.

9

merry meeting with us all, when the long vacation comes round."

"Yes, yes," quoth the Squire, raising himself up in his bed-" let us hope the best, let us hope all that is good and pleasant; for, do the best we can, a parting is a pain. But, above all, look sharp to yourself, Reginald, boy-have a care that you don't come back either a Whig or a Methodist."

"I'll be bound he shan't," cried Chisney. "By Jupiter, we'll make minced meat of the buck, if he ever dares but to be detected within smell of St. Edmund's Hall, or insult CHURCH AND KING with a single hair's-breadth of day-light."

"There spoke a true boy," quoth the Squire, with a hearty chuckle. "Everlastingly confound all traitors and rebels, say I; for what, in Heaven's name, are our Whigs but rebels? Aren't they doing all they can, rot'em, to let Bonaparte have his own way? aren't they piping every where against honest old George, and trying, what they can, to rail his old English heart out of his bosom? and who are they but the devil's children for doing so? has not old Sam Butler told us the truth long ago?

'The devil was the first o' the name,
From whom the race of rebels came;
He was the first bold undertaker
Of bearing arms against his Maker.'

"But Billy's Spirit at least is at the helm yet, my lads, and Sir Arthur's the boy-God bless him, he's the boy that will do for all their bastardly Monsieurs ! Who the deuce cares for what Holland-house and Sheridan, and all their rabble can do?-we'll do yet, mind me, my boys, we'll do yet,-O, d-n them all, I hope I shall live to see the end of them yet."

"Nay, nay," said the Vicar, "perhaps the end of the struggle is not quite so near yet; but spite of all, why should we be cast down? We are in the right, my dear sir, and the right will prevail in the long run."