ses Gresham were
made in the de Courcy mould, and were not on this account the less
dear to their mother.

The two eldest, Augusta and Beatrice, lived, and were apparently
likely to live. The four next faded and died one after another--all
in the same sad year--and were laid in the neat, new cemetery at
Torquay. Then came a pair, born at one birth, weak, delicate, frail
little flowers, with dark hair and dark eyes, and thin, long, pale
faces, with long, bony hands, and long bony feet, whom men looked on
as fated to follow their sisters with quick steps. Hitherto, however,
they had not followed them, nor had they suffered as their sisters
had suffered; and some people at Greshamsbury attributed this to the
fact that a change had been made in the family medical practitioner.

Then came the youngest of the flock, she whose birth we have said was
not heralded with loud joy; for when she came into the world, four
others, with pale temples, wan, worn cheeks, and skeleton, white
arms, were awaiting permission to leave it.

Such was the family when, in the year 1854, the eldest son came of
age. He had been educated at Harrow, and was now still at Cambridge;
but, of course, on such a day as this he was at home. That coming of
age must be a delightful time to a young man born to inherit broad
acres and wide wealth. Those full-mouthed congratulations; those
warm prayers with which his manhood is welcomed by the grey-haired
seniors of the county; the affectionate, all but motherly caresses of
neighbouring mothers who have seen him grow up from his cradle, of
mothers who have daughters, perhaps, fair enough, and good enough,
and sweet enough even for him; the soft-spoken, half-bashful, but
tender greetings of the girls, who now, perhaps for the first time,
call him by his stern family name, instructed by instinct rather than
precept that the time has come when the familiar Charles or familiar
John must by them be laid aside; the "lucky dogs," and hints of
silver spoons which are poured into his ears as each young compeer
slaps his back and bids him live a thousand years and then never die;
the shouting of the tenantry, the good wishes of the old farmers who
come up to wring his hand, the kisses which he gets from the farmers'
wives, and the kisses which he gives to the farmers' daughters; all
these things must make the twenty-first birthday pleasant enough to
a young heir. To a youth, however, who feels that he is now liable
to