letters and
shoulder his musket just as well, though all the appellations by
which humanity knows him be condensed into a pitiful monosyllable.
Nevertheless (as you will find when you are older), people are obliged
in practice to renounce for themselves the application of those rules
which they philosophically prescribe for others. Thus, while I grant
that a change of name for that dog is a question belonging to the policy
of Ifs and Buts, commonly called the policy of Expediency, about which
one may differ from others and one's own self every quarter of an hour,
a change of name for me belongs to the policy of Must and Shall; namely
the policy of Necessity, against which let no dog bark,--though I have
known dogs howl at it! William Waife is no more: he is dead; he is
buried; and even Juliet Araminta is the baseless fabric of a vision."

Sophy raised inquiringly her blue guileless eyes.

"You see before you a man who has used up the name of Waife, and who on
entering the town of Gatesboro' becomes a sober, staid, and respectable
personage, under the appellation of Chapman. You are Miss Chapman. Rugge
and his Exhibition 'leave not a wrack behind.'"

Sophy smiled, and then sighed,--the smile for her grandfather's gay
spirits; wherefore the sigh? Was it that some instinct in that fresh,
loyal nature revolted from the thought of these aliases, which, if
requisite for safety, were still akin to imposture? If so, poor child,
she had much yet to set right with her conscience! All I can say is,
that after she had smiled she sighed. And more reasonably might a reader
ask his author to subject a zephyr to the microscope than a female's
sigh to analysis.

"Take the dog with you, my dear, back into the lane; I will join you in
a few minutes. You are neatly dressed, and, if not, would look so. I, in
this old coat, have the air of a pedler, so I will change it, and enter
the town of Gatesboro' in the character of--a man whom you will soon
see before you. Leave those things alone, de-Isaacized Sir Isaac! Follow
your mistress,--go!"

Sophy left the wood, and walked on slowly towards the town, with her
hand pensively resting on Sir Isaac's head. In less than ten minutes
she was joined by Waife, attired in respectable black; his hat and shoes
well brushed; a new green shade to his eye; and with his finest air of
_Pere noble_. He was now in his favourite element. HE WAS ACTING:
call it not imposture. Was Lord Chatham an impostor wh