the object of his journey; and seeing the footpath right
before him, which led to a gate that he conceived would admit him into
the highway sooner than the path by which he had come, he took it at
once.

It is surprising how little we human creatures heed the warnings of our
good genius. I have no doubt that some benignant power had precipitated
Randal Leslie into the ditch, as a significant hint of the fate of all
who choose what is, now-a-days, by no means an uncommon step in the
march of intellect--viz., the walking backwards, in order to gratify a
vindictive view of one's neighbor's property! I suspect that, before
this century is out, many a fine fellow will thus have found his ha-ha,
and scrambled out of the ditch with a much shabbier coat than he had on
when he fell into it. But Randal did not thank his good genius for
giving him a premonitory tumble;--and I never yet knew a man who did!

CHAPTER XI.

The Squire was greatly ruffled at breakfast that morning. He was too
much of an Englishman to bear insult patiently, and he considered that
he had been personally insulted in the outrage offered to his recent
donation to the parish. His feelings, too, were hurt, as well as his
pride. There was something so ungrateful in the whole thing, just after
he had taken so much pains, not only in the resuscitation, but the
embellishment of the stocks. It was not, however, so rare an occurrence
for the Squire to be ruffled, as to create any remark. Riccabocca,
indeed, as a stranger, and Mrs. Hazeldean, as a wife, had the quick tact
to perceive that the host was glum and the husband snappish; but the one
was too discreet and the other too sensible, to chafe the new sore,
whatever it might be; and shortly after breakfast the Squire retired
into his study, and absented himself from morning service.

In his delightful _Life of Oliver Goldsmith_, Mr. Foster takes care to
touch our hearts by introducing his hero's excuse for not entering the
priesthood. He did not feel himself good enough. Thy Vicar of Wakefield,
poor Goldsmith, was an excellent substitute for thee; and Dr. Primrose,
at least, will be good enough for the world until Miss Jemima's fears
are realized. Now, Squire Hazeldean had a tenderness of conscience much
less reasonable than Goldsmith's. There were occasionally days in which
he did not feel good enough--I don't say for a priest, but even for one
of the congregation--"days in which (said the Squire in his own