ish, most patriotically discharges his duty by pairing off--visits
the classic grounds of Ascot, Epsom, Newmarket, or Goodwood, or
traverses the moors of Scotland and Ireland in pursuit of grouse. But
once a year they indulge their filial virtues in a visit to the old
squire. The old squire, we are sorry to say, has grown of late years
queer and snappish, and does not look on this visit quite as gratefully
as he should. "If they would but come," he says, "in a quiet way, as I
used to ride over and see my father in his time, why I should be right
glad to see them; but, here they come, like the first regiment of an
invading army, and God help those who are old, and want to be quiet!"

The old gentleman, moreover, is continually haranguing about Tom's folly
and extravagance. It is his perpetual topic to his wife, and wife's
maiden sister, and Wagstaff. Wagstaff only shakes his head, and says,
"Young blood! young blood!" but Mrs. Chesselton and the maiden sister
say, "Oh! Mr. Chesselton, you don't consider: Tom has great connections,
and he is obliged to keep a certain establishment. Things are different
now to what they were in our time. Tom is universally allowed to be a
very fine man, and Lady Barbara is a very fine woman, and a prodigious
clever woman! and you ought to be proud of them, Chesselton." At which
the old gentleman breaks out, if he be a little elevated over his wine:

When the Duke of Leeds shall married be
To a fine young lady of high quality,
How happy will that gentlewoman be
In his grace of Leeds good company!

She shall have all that's fine and fair,
And the best of silk and satin to wear;
And ride in a coach to take the air,
And have a house in St. James's-square.

Lady Barbara always professes great affection and reverence for the old
gentleman, and sends him many merry and kind compliments and messages;
and sends him, moreover, her new books as soon as they are out, most
magnificently bound; but all won't do. He only says, "If she'd please
me, she'd give up that cursed opera-box. Why, the rent of that
thing--only to sit in and hear Italian women squealing and squalling,
and to see impudent, outlandish baggages kicking up their heels higher
than any decent heads ought to be--the rent, I say, would maintain a
parish rector, or keep half-a-dozen parish schools a-going." As for her
books, that all the world besides are in raptures about, the old squire
turns them over