r life you never saw such a sharp bad visage as
the fellow's, and he put himself into the most ridiculous posture,
rolling his goggle eyes, and smiting his breast, and at last roared out,
'O vain youth, covet not musical devices, but tune thy heart to praise,
and thy lips to spiritual songs.'--'Tune thy own lips to civility,' said
I; 'and you shall too before you pass.' 'I can use the arm of flesh as
well as the sword of the spirit,' said he; so to it we fell, and he
scratched and pulled my hair, and tore my coat, just as you girls do,
but I gave him enough to teach him good manners, and at last made him
own he took the lute from my uncle's, the night of the fire, and that
Squire Morgan was to have it. So I threw him a shilling just to mend his
broken head, and have brought the lute to its own home again."

Isabel could not but rejoice that the affray ended in a victory, but
expressed her fears that he might be accused of taking the spoil by
violence. "Who stole it first?" said Eustace; "we may take our own
wherever we find it. And to own the truth of my heart, I am glad of this
opportunity of mortifying Squire Morgan, for if there is a person I hate
in the world, it is he."

"There," said Isabel, "you are both indiscreet and ungrateful, for you
know he and Sir William Waverly have promised to assist my uncle in his
cause."

"I would not give a rush for the friendship of either," returned
Eustace. "A good victory on the King's side is the only way of fixing
Sir William, and as to Morgan, I know it is not love for my uncle brings
him to the rectory. I see that fellow's heart; and I could scarce keep
myself from pushing him out of the room, when he kissed Constance the
other day, and called her his little wife; but she looked so distressed
at the instant, that I thought I had better not seem to observe it."

"I have heard you call her little wife a hundred times," said Isabel,
"and it never seems to affront her."

"One may take liberties with one's relations," replied Eustace, "but I
tell you, young girls should never let men call them wife, especially
such an old, ugly, foolish, fat, vulgar, round-head, as Morgan; and I
had rather my uncle had no restitution, than owe any favour to him."

Anxious to draw her brother from a topic, on which he always was
ungovernable, Isabel begged him to describe the present state of their
mountain-residence. "Is our garden quite destroyed?" said she, "Are the
primroses I planted on