r all. Poor fellow: I
don't think he was such a rascal; he gave a beggar an angel once,--well,
boy, have a pinch?--Well, so I said to Sir Charles, 'I think you will
lose the widow, after all,--'Gad I do.' 'Upon what principle of science,
Sir William?' said he. 'Why, faith, man, she is so modest, you see, and
has such a pretty way of blushing.' 'Hark ye, friend Devereux,' said Sir
Charles, smoothing his collar and mincing his words musically, as he
was wont to do,--'hark ye, friend Devereux, I will give you the whole
experience of my life in one maxim: I can answer for its being new, and
I think it is profound; and that maxim is--,' no, faith, Morton--no,
I can't tell it thee: it is villanous, and then it's so desperately
against all the sex."

"My dear uncle, don't tantalize me so: pray tell it me; it shall be a
secret."

"No, boy, no: it will corrupt thee; besides, it will do poor Sid's
memory no good. But, 'sdeath, it was a most wonderfully shrewd
saying,--i' faith, it was. But, zounds, Morton, I forgot to tell you
that I have had a letter from the Abbe to-day."

"Ha! and when does he return?"

"To-morrow, God willing!" said the knight, with a sigh.

"So soon, or rather after so long an absence! Well, I am glad of it. I
wish much to see him before I leave you."

"Indeed!" quoth my uncle; "you have an advantage over me, then! But, ods
fish, Morton, how is it that you grew so friendly with the priest before
his departure? He used to speak very suspiciously of thee formerly; and,
when I last saw him, he lauded thee to the skies."

"Why, the clergy of his faith have a habit of defending the strong and
crushing the weak, I believe; that's all. He once thought I was dull
enough to damn my fortune, and then he had some strange doubts for
my soul; now he thinks me wise enough to become prosperous, and it is
astonishing what a respect he has conceived for my principles."

"Ha! ha! ha!--you have a spice of your uncle's humour in you; and, 'Gad,
you have no small knowledge of the world, considering you have seen so
little of it."

A hit at the popish clergy was, in my good uncle's eyes, the exact acme
of wit and wisdom. We are always clever with those who imagine we think
as they do. To be shallow you must differ from people: to be profound
you must agree with them. "Why, Sir," answered the sage nephew, "you
forget that I have seen more of the world than many of twice my age.
Your house has been full of company ever s