o it is with lads," said Mr. Carvel; "they will rush into manhood as
heedless as you please. Take my counsel, boy, and remain young. Do not
cross the bridge before you have to. And I have been thinking that we
shall have your fete this year, albeit you are grown, and Miss Dolly is
the belle of the province. 'Tis like sunshine into my old heart to see
the lads and lasses again, and to hear the merry, merry fiddling. I will
have his new Excellency, who seems a good and a kindly man, and Lloyd and
Tilghman and Dulany and the rest, with their ladies, to sit with me. And
there will be plenty of punch and syllabub and sangaree, I warrant; and
tarts and jellies and custards, too, for the misses. Ring for Mrs.
Willis, my son."

Willis came with her curtsey to the old gentleman, who gave his order
then and there. He never waited for a fancy of this kind to grow cold.

"We shall all be children again, on that day, Mrs. Willis," says he.
"And I catch any old people about, they shall be thrust straight in the
town stocks, i' faith."

Willis made another curtsey.

"We missed it sorely, last year, please your honour," says she, and
departs smiling.

"And you shall have your Patty Swain, Richard," Mr. Carvel continued.
"Do you mind how you once asked the favour of inviting her in the place
of a present? Oons! I loved you for that, boy. 'Twas like a Carvel.
And I love that lass, Whig or no Whig. 'Pon my soul, I do. She hath
demureness and dignity, and suits me better than yon whimsical baggage
you are all mad over. I'll have Mr. Swain beside me, too. I'll warrant
I'd teach his daughter loyalty in a day, and I had again your years and
your spirit!"

I have but to close my eyes, and my fancy takes me back to that birthday
festival. Think of it, my dears! Near threescore years are gone since
then, when this old man you call grandfather, and some--bless
me!--great-grandfather, was a lusty lad like Comyn here. But his hand is
steady as he writes these words and his head clear, because he hath not
greatly disabused that life which God has given him.

How can I, tho' her face and form are painted on my memory, tell you what
fair, pert Miss Dorothy was at that time'! Ay, I know what you would
say: that Sir Joshua's portrait hangs above, executed but the year after,
and hung at the second exhibition of the Royal Academy. As I look upon
it now, I say that no whit of its colour is overcharged. And there is
likewise Mr. Peale's portrait, d