g himself in a particular chair near the fire, and pinches
the ears of the dogs, and gives the cat, now and then, a pinch of snuff
as she lies sleeping in a chair; and when the squire's old lady says,
"How _can_ you do so, Mr. Wagstaff?" he only gives a quiet, chuckling
laugh, and says, "Oh, they like it, madam; they like it, you may
depend." That is the longest speech he ever makes, for he seldom does
more than say "yes" and "no" to what is said to him, and still oftener
gives only a quiet smile and a soft of little nasal "hum." The squire
has a vast affection for him, and always walks up to the little chamber
which is allotted to him, once a week, to see that the maid does not
neglect it; though at table he cuts many a sharp joke upon Wagstaff, to
which Wagstaff only returns a smile and a shake of the head, which is
more full of meaning to the squire than a long speech. Such is the old
squire's constant companion.

But we have not yet done with the squire's antiquities. He has an old
woodman, an old shepherd, an old justice's clerk, and almost all his
farmers are old. He seems to have an antipathy to almost every thing
that is not old. Young men are his aversion; they are such coxcombs, he
says, nowadays. The only exception is a young woman. He always was a
great admirer of the fair sex; though we are not going to rake up the
floating stories of the neighborhood about the gallantries of his youth;
but his lady, who is justly considered to have been as fine a woman as
ever stepped in shoe-leather, is a striking proof of his judgment in
women. Never, however, does his face relax into such pleasantness of
smiles and humorous twinkles of the eye, as when he is in company with
young ladies. He is full of sly compliments and knowing hints about
their lovers, and is universally reckoned among them "a dear old
gentleman."

When he meets a blooming country damsel crossing the park, or as he
rides along a lane, he is sure to stop and have a word with her. "Aha,
Mary! I know you, there! I can tell you by your mother's eyes and lips
that you've stole away from her. Ay, you're a pretty slut enough, but I
remember your mother. Gad! I don't know whether you are entitled to
carry her slippers after her! But never mind, you're handsome enough;
and I reckon you're going to be married directly. Well, well, I won't
make you blush; so, good-by, Mary, good-by! Father and mother are both
hearty--eh?"

The routine of the old squire's life