yes-I pronounce that female a very rare tulip." "No matter," said the earl, "she's a good woman, I believe, and endeavours, though in a rough way, to do her duty-and sincerity, I always respect." I thought his lordship was right, and only regretted that extreme coarseness of manner should accompany, and spoil so much that was praiseworthy. "Who is that mountebank-old Barleycrop ?" asked Mr. Grey, with a somewhat contemptuous tone. "Ha, ha!" laughed Lord Ravensden," he's a fine old bird, is he not? It's quite pleasant to see a man on such excellent terms with himself as he is; he was a merchant originally, I believe, and either made, or dropped in for a good fortune, which he enjoys exceedingly down at his little place here, where he plays the grand prince but feels rather small in town. I endeavoured to give the poor fellow a lift by introducing him at my club, but somehow or other, he wouldn't 'go down' among the men there." "I should think not, indeed!" cried the countess, "what insane fancy will you take in your head next, George? What must the people have thought of your introducing a bedizened old donkey like that, as your friend ?" "No matter what they thought," was the quiet answer; "occupying a tolerably respectable position myself, I can afford to do a civil act, without being afraid of lowering myself in the estimation of any one, or entertaining any servile fear of giving offence to this person or that t; and so that my conscience offers a clean bill of health, I'm easy on the subject of other people's opinions on such mattersbelieve me, I'm above all that nonsense, my dear." His lady sneered, but did not by the act make herself look at all more aristocratic than her good-natured husband with his pleasant smile; he continued, after a pause, "Now that conceited young parson was the least to my taste of the whole party." "Because the most gentlemanlike ?" asked the young countess, sarcastically. 66 No, I didn't think he was the most gentlemanlike; he apes a good deal, and his fine person, and good education assist him in producing a certain effect, but I doubt if the mind of the man is at all superior to Mr. Barleycrop's." "Not equal to it," cried the dowager, "for Barley's all open and above board, but that blackbeetle's a sneak, a crawling toady, I'm sure; I can see it, and that demeans him in my eyes far more than the blazing waiscoats and glittering chains of our flourishing friend lower him. Vanity is the mainspring in both cases, but in one it is innocent in its effects, in the other, the results are dangerous sometimes." "There is something wrong in our ecclesiastical system," remarked Mr. Grey, “in permitting as it does, the sacred offices to be held by men who are unqualified or incompetent, either mentally or morally, for their duties. Can you imagine the first founders of our establishment, or any of the numerous divines, who in all ages have graced it, approving of such a piece of scented affectation and conceit as that young Reverend? I can only fancy weak-minded girls, and doating old ladies being influenced by him; men, do not so readily yield to the empty pretence of these actors." "But that couple of oxen," exclaimed the old lady, "what lumpy creatures they are! can't they be goaded on to perform the journey of life a little faster?" "The pace suits them very well, mother, why should it be quickened ?" said Lord Ravensden, "they're very happy in their way, and at home with their children, I assure you, they appear to greater advantage than they do here every one is not calculated like my lady mother" (and he kissed her as he spoke), "to shine in society." : "The fact is, my dear," said she, "I'm gregarious-vide Johnson-going in flocks or herds,' that's my fancy, and loneliness is distasteful and unnatural to me, you are differently constituted; and you're a jewel my boy!" said the mother with parental pride, "but you want polishing." "Can't take the polish-no use to try," was the son's answer, "people must take me as they find me." CHAPTER XV. Heaven's airs amid the harp-strings dwell; They cease; and the soul is a silent cell, WILSON. SUNDAY morning -how well I remember that first Sunday morning of Mr. Grey's visit! I can fancy myself standing at the breakfastroom window looking out into the garden. The freshness of autumn was in the air, the dahlias drooped their heavy heads with eyes full of tears, and the pendent bells of the crimson fuschia each contained a pearly drop; there was a softness, a sweet calm pervading everything, and just sun enough to burnish the gilded train of a lordly peacock, which, with its family, awaited patiently the daily donation of |