ho dares say a word against my
brother! Why, sir, that fellow was not fit to buckle my dear George's
shoe; and if I find him repeating at home what he dared to say in our
house in Virginia, I promise him a second caning."

"You seem to stand up for your friends, nephew Harry," says the Baronet.
"Fill thy glass, lad, thou art not as bad as thou hast been painted.
I always told my lady so. I drink Madam Esmond Warrington's health, of
Virginia, and will have a full bumper for that toast."

Harry, as in duty bound, emptied his glass, filled again, and drank Lady
Warrington and Master Miles.

"Thou wouldst be heir to four thousand acres in Norfolk, did he die,
though," said the Baronet.

"God forbid, sir, and be praised that I have acres enough in Virginia
of my own!" says Mr. Warrington. He went up presently and took a dish of
coffee with Lady Warrington: he talked to the young ladies of the house.
He was quite easy, pleasant, and natural. There was one of them somewhat
like Fanny Mountain, and this young lady became his special favourite.
When he went away, they all agreed their wicked cousin was not near so
wicked as they had imagined him to be: at any rate, my lady had strong
hopes of rescuing him from the pit. She sent him a good book that
evening, whilst Mr. Harry was at White's; with a pretty note, praying
that Law's Call might be of service to him: and, this despatched, she
and her daughters went off to a rout at the house of a minister's lady.
But Harry, before he went to White's, had driven to his friend Mr.
Sparks, in Tavistock Street, and purchased more trinkets for his female
cousins--"from their aunt in Virginia," he said. You see, he was full of
kindness: he kindled and warmed with prosperity. There are men on whom
wealth hath no such fortunate influence. It hardens base hearts: it
makes those who were mean and servile, mean and proud. If it should
please the gods to try me with ten thousand a year, I will, of course,
meekly submit myself to their decrees, but I will pray them to give me
strength enough to bear the trial. All the girls in Hill Street were
delighted at getting the presents from Aunt Warrington in Virginia and
addressed a collective note, which must have astonished that good lady
when she received it in spring-time, when she and Mountain and Fanny
were on a visit to grim deserted Castlewood, when the snows had cleared
away and a thousand peach-trees flushed with blossoms. "Poor boy!" the
mot