ean's eye was gladdened. In the pride of his heart he
brought all the family down to look at the stocks. The squire's family
(omitting the frere de loin) consisted of Mrs. Hazeldean, his wife;
next, of Miss Jemima Hazeldean, his first cousin; thirdly, of Mr.
Francis Hazeldean, his only son; and fourthly, of Captain Barnabas
Higginbotham, a distant relation,--who, indeed, strictly speaking,
was not of the family, but only a visitor ten months in the year. Mrs.
Hazeldean was every inch the lady,--the lady of the parish. In her
comely, florid, and somewhat sunburned countenance, there was an equal
expression of majesty and benevolence; she had a blue eye that invited
liking, and an aquiline nose that commanded respect. Mrs. Hazeldean had
no affectation of fine airs, no wish to be greater and handsomer and
cleverer than she was. She knew herself, and her station, and thanked
Heaven for it. There was about her speech and manner something of the
shortness and bluntness which often characterizes royalty; and if the
lady of a parish is not a queen in her own circle, it is never the fault
of a parish. Mrs. Hazeldean dressed her part to perfection. She wore
silks that seemed heirlooms,--so thick were they, so substantial and
imposing; and over these, when she was in her own domain, the whitest
of aprons; while at her waist was seen no fiddle-faddle chatelaine, with
breloques and trumpery, but a good honest gold watch to mark the
time, and a long pair of scissors to cut off the dead leaves from her
flowers,--for she was a great horticulturalist. When occasion needed,
Mrs. Hazeldean could, however, lay by her more sumptuous and imperial
raiment for a stout riding-habit, of blue Saxony, and canter by her
husband's side to see the hounds throw off. Nay, on the days on which
Mr. Hazeldean drove his famous fast-trotting cob to the market town, it
was rarely that you did not see his wife on the left side of the gig.
She cared as little as her lord did for wind and weather, and in the
midst of some pelting shower her pleasant face peeped over the collar
and capes of a stout dreadnought, expanding into smiles and bloom as
some frank rose, that opens from its petals, and rejoices in the dews.
It was easy to see that the worthy couple had married for love; they
were as little apart as they could help it. And still, on the first
of September, if the house was not full of company which demanded her
cares, Mrs. Hazeldean "stepped out" over the s