unveiled to her nephew! How she railed
at all the world round about her! How unconsciously did she paint her
own family--her own self; how selfish, one and all; pursuing what
mean ends; grasping and scrambling frantically for what petty prizes;
ambitious for what shabby recompenses; trampling--from life's beginning
to its close--through what scenes of stale dissipations and faded
pleasures! "Are these the inheritors of noble blood?" thought George, as
he went home quite late from his aunt's house, passing by doors whence
the last guests of fashion were issuing, and where the chairmen were
yawning over their expiring torches. "Are these the proud possessors of
ancestral honours and ancient names, and were their forefathers, when in
life, no better? We have our pedigree at home with noble coats-of-arms
emblazoned all over the branches, and titles dating back before the
Conquest and the Crusaders. When a knight of old found a friend in want,
did he turn his back upon him, or an unprotected damsel, did he delude
her and leave her? When a nobleman of the early time received a young
kinsman, did he get the better of him at dice, and did the ancient
chivalry cheat in horseflesh? Can it be that this wily woman of the
world, as my aunt has represented, has inveigled my poor Harry into an
engagement, that her tears are false, and that as soon as she finds him
poor she will desert him? Had we not best pack the trunks and take a
cabin in the next ship bound for home?" George reached his own door
revolving these thoughts, and Gumbo came up yawning with a candle, and
Harry was asleep before the extinguished fire, with the ashes of his
emptied pipe on the table beside him.

He starts up; his eyes, for a moment dulled by sleep, lighten with
pleasure as he sees his dear George. He puts his arm round his brother
with a boyish laugh.

"There he is in flesh and blood, thank God!" he says; "I was dreaming of
thee but now, George, and that Ward was hearing us our lesson! Dost
thou remember the ruler, Georgy? Why, bless my soul, 'tis three o'clock!
Where have you been a-gadding, Mr. George? Hast thou supped? I supped at
White's, but I'm hungry again. I did not play, sir,--no, no; no more of
that for younger brothers! And my Lord March paid me fifty he lost to
me. I bet against his horse and on the Duke of Hamilton's! They both
rode the match at Newmarket this morning, and he lost because he was
under weight. And he paid me, and he was as sul