irs are usually more abundant than
estates."

"So I thought. Will the king get the title as well as the estate,
brother, if it should escheat, as you call it?"

"Being the fountain of honour, he will be rather indifferent about the
baronetcy."

"I should care less if it went to the next sovereign, who is English
born. Wychecombe has always belonged to Englishmen."

"That it has; and ever will, I trust. You have only to select an heir,
when I am gone, and by making a will, with proper devises, the property
will not escheat. Be careful to use the full terms of perpetuity."

"Every thing was so comfortable, brother, while you were in health,"
said Sir Wycherly, fidgeting; "you were my natural heir--"

"Heir of entail," interrupted the judge.

"Well, well, _heir_, at all events; and _that_ was a prodigious comfort
to a man like myself, who has a sort of religious scruples about making
a will. I have heard it whispered that you were actually married to
Martha; in which case, Tom might drop into our shoes, so readily,
without any more signing and sealing."

"A _filius nullius_," returned the other, too conscientious to lend
himself to a deception of that nature.

"Why, brother, Tom often seems to me to favour such an idea, himself."

"No wonder, Wycherly, for the idea would greatly favour him. Tom and his
brothers are all _filii nullorum_, God forgive me for that same wrong."

"I wonder neither Charles nor Gregory thought of marrying before they
lost their lives for their king and country," put in Sir Wycherly, in an
upbraiding tone, as if he thought his penniless brethren had done him an
injury in neglecting to supply him with an heir, though he had been so
forgetful himself of the same great duty. "I did think of bringing in a
bill for providing heirs for unmarried persons, without the trouble and
responsibility of making wills."

"That would have been a great improvement on the law of descents--I hope
you wouldn't have overlooked the ancestors."

"Not I--everybody would have got his rights. They tell me poor Charles
never spoke after he was shot; but I dare say, did we know the truth, he
regretted sincerely that he never married."

"There, for once, Wycherly, I think you are likely to be wrong. A _femme
sole_ without food, is rather a helpless sort of a person."

"Well, well, I wish he had married. What would it have been to me, had
he left a dozen widows?"

"It might have raised some awkward questions a