e with the county families,' Miss Wirt (1) continued,
tossing up her head. 'The Duke is abroad: we are at feud with the
Carabases; the Ringwoods don't come down till Christmas: in fact,
nobody's here till the hunting season--positively nobody.'

'Whose is the large red house just outside of the town?'

'What! the CHATEAU-CALICOT? he, he, he! That purse-proud ex-linendraper,
Mr. Yardley, with the yellow liveries, and the wife in red velvet? How
CAN you, my dear Mr. Snob, be so satirical? The impertinence of those
people is really something quite overwhelming.'

'Well, then, there is the parson, Doctor Chrysostom. He's a gentleman,
at any rate.' At this Mrs. Ponto looked at Miss Wirt. After their eyes
had met and they had wagged their heads at each other. They looked up
to the ceiling. So did the young ladies. They thrilled. It was evident I
had said something terrible. Another black sheep in the Church? thought
I with a little sorrow; for I don't care to own that I have a respect
for the cloth. 'I--hope there's nothing wrong?

'Wrong?' says Mrs. P., clasping her hands with a tragic air.

'Oh!' says Miss Wirt, and the two girls, gasping in chorus.

'Well,' says I, 'I'm very sorry for it. I never saw a nicer-looking old
gentleman, or a better school, or heard a better sermon.'

'He used to preach those sermons in a surplice,' hissed out Mrs. Ponto.
'He's a Puseyite, Mr. Snob.'

'Heavenly powers!' says I, admiring the pure ardour of these female
theologians; and Stripes came in with the tea. It's so weak that no
wonder Ponto's sleep isn't disturbed by it.

Of mornings we used to go out shooting. We had Ponto's own fields to
sport over (where we got the landrail), and the non-preserved part of
the Hawbuck property: and one evening in a stubble of Ponto's skirting
the Carabas woods, we got among some pheasants, and had some real sport.
I shot a hen, I know, greatly to my delight. 'Bag it,' says Ponto, in
rather a hurried manner: 'here's somebody coming.' So I pocketed the
bird.

'You infernal poaching thieves!' roars out a man from the hedge in the
garb of a gamekeeper. 'I wish I could catch you on this side of the
hedge. I'd put a brace of barrels into you, that I would.'

'Curse that Snapper,' says Ponto, moving off; 'he's always watching me
like a spy.'

'Carry off the birds, you sneaks, and sell 'em in London,' roars the
individual, who it appears was a keeper of Lord Carabas. 'You'll get six
shillings a bra