of the town?"

"Scarcely a mile, Sir,--black or green? you passed the turn to his
house last night;--Sir, the eggs are quite fresh this morning. This inn
belongs to Sir Peter."

"Oh!--Does Sir Peter see much company?"

The waiter smiled.

"Sir Peter gives very handsome dinners, Sir; twice a year! A most clever
gentleman, Sir Peter! They say he is the best manager of property in the
whole county. Do you like Yorkshire cake?--toast? yes, Sir!"

"So so," said Walter to himself, "a pretty true description my uncle
gave me of this gentleman. 'Ask me too often to dinner, indeed!'--'offer
me money if I want it!'--'spend a month at his house!'--'most hospitable
fellow in the world!'--My uncle must have been dreaming."

Walter had yet to learn, that the men most prodigal when they have
nothing but expectations, are often most thrifty when they know the
charms of absolute possession. Besides, Sir Peter had married a Scotch
lady, and was blessed with eleven children! But was Sir Peter Hales much
altered? Sir Peter Hales was exactly the same man in reality that he
always had been. Once he was selfish in extravagance; he was now selfish
in thrift. He had always pleased himself, and damned other people; that
was exactly what he valued himself on doing now. But the most absurd
thing about Sir Peter was, that while he was for ever extracting use
from every one else, he was mightily afraid of being himself put to use.
He was in parliament, and noted for never giving a frank out of his own
family. Yet withal, Sir Peter Hales was still an agreeable fellow; nay,
he was more liked and much more esteemed than ever. There is something
conciliatory in a saving disposition; but people put themselves in a
great passion when a man is too liberal with his own. It is an insult
on their own prudence. "What right has he to be so extravagant? What an
example to our servants!" But your close neighbour does not humble you.
You love your close neighbour; you respect your close neighbour; you
have your harmless jest against him--but he is a most respectable man.

"A letter, Sir, and a parcel, from Sir Peter Hales," said the waiter,
entering.

The parcel was a bulky, angular, awkward packet of brown paper, sealed
once and tied with the smallest possible quantity of string; it was
addressed to Mr. James Holwell, Saddler,--Street,--The letter was
to--Lester Esq., and ran thus, written in a very neat, stiff, Italian
character.

"Dr Sr,

"I trust