arties of
hunting and fishing, and promised to be a good sportsman from a very
early age. The grandfather's ship was sailing for Europe once when the
boys were children, and they were asked what present Captain Franks would
bring them back? George was divided between books and a fiddle; Harry
instantly declared for a little gun; and Madame Warrington (as she then
was called) was hurt that her elder boy should have low tastes, and
applauded the younger's choice as more worthy of his name and lineage.

"Books, papa, I can fancy to be a good choice," she replied to her
father, who tried to convince her that George had a right to his
opinion, "though I am sure you must have pretty nigh all the books in
the world already. But I never can desire--I may be wrong--but I never
can desire, that my son, and the grandson of the Marquis of Esmond,
should be a fiddler."

"Should be a fiddlestick, my dear," the old Colonel answered. "Remember
that Heaven's ways are not ours, and that each creature born has a little
kingdom of thought of his own, which it is a sin in us to invade. Suppose
George loves music? You can no more stop him than you can order a rose
not to smell sweet, or a bird not to sing."

"A bird! A bird sings from nature; George did not come into the world
with a fiddle in his hand," says Mrs. Warrington, with a toss of her
head. "I am sure I hated the harpsichord when a chit at Kensington
school, and only learned it to please my mamma. Say what you will, I
cannot believe that this fiddling is work for persons of fashion."

"And King David who played the harp, my dear?"

"I wish my papa would read him more, and not speak about him in that
way," said Mrs. Warrington.

"Nay, my dear, it was but by way of illustration," the father replied
gently. It was Colonel's Esmond's nature always to be led by a woman,
and he spoiled his daughter; laughing at her caprices, but humouring
them; making a joke of her prejudices, but letting them have their way;
indulging, and perhaps increasing, her natural imperiousness of
character, which asserted itself to an unusual degree after her
father's death.

The Colonel's funeral was the most sumptuous one ever seen in the
country. The little lads of Castlewood, almost smothered in black trains
and hat bands, headed the procession, followed by Madame Esmond
Warrington (as she called herself after her father's death), by my Lord
Fairfax, by his Excellency the Governor of Virginia, by the