Mr Cadwallader.—I suppose it's no use trying any persuasion. There's such an odd mixture of obstinacy and changeableness in Brooke.

Mrs Cadwallader.-There is one good chance-that he will not like to feel his money oozing away. If I knew the items of election expenses I could scare him. It's no use plying him with wide words like Expenditure: I wouldn't talk of phlebotomy, I would empty a pot of leeches upon him. What we good stingy people don't like, is having our sixpences sucked away from us.

Mrs Cadwallader.-You will certainly go mad in that house alone, my dear. You will see visions. We have all got to exert ourselves a little to keep sane, and call things by the same names as other people call them by. To be sure, for younger sons and women who have no money, it is a sort of provision to go mad: they are taken care of then. But you must not run into that. I daresay you are a little bored here with our good dowager; but think what a bore you might become yourself to your fellow-creatures if you were always playing tragedy queen and taking things sublimely. Sitting alone in that library at Lowick you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you must get a few people round you who wouldn't believe you if you told them. That is a good lowering medicine.

A

Dorothea.-I never called everything by the same name that all the people about me did.

Mrs Cadwallader.-But I suppose you have found out your mistake, my dear, and that is a proof of sanity.

Dorothea.-No. I still think that the greater part of

the world is mistaken about many things. Surely one may be sane and yet think so, since the greater part of the world has often had to come round from its opinion.

Celia.-Dodo need not make such a slavery of her mourning; she need not wear that cap any more among her friends.

Lady Chettam.—My dear Celia, a widow must wear her mourning at least a year.

Mrs Cadwallader.-Not if she marries again before the end of it.

No

Lady Chettam.-That is very rare, I hope. friend of ours ever committed herself in that way except Mrs Beevor, and it was very painful to Lord Grinsell when she did so. Her first husband was objectionable, which made it the greater wonder. And severely she was punished for it. They said Captain Beevor dragged her about by the hair, and held up loaded pistols at her.

Mrs Cadwallader.-Oh, if she took the wrong man! Marriage is always bad then, first or second. Priority is a poor recommendation in a husband if he has got no other. I would rather have a good second husband than an indifferent first.

Lady Chettam.-My dear, your clever tongue runs away with you. I am sure you would be the last woman to marry again prematurely, if our dear Rector were taken away.

Mrs Cadwallader.-Oh, I make no vows; it might be a necessary economy. It is lawful to marry again, I suppose; else we might as well be Hindoos instead of Christians. Of course if a woman accepts the wrong man, she must take the consequences, and one who does

it twice over deserves her fate. But if she can marry blood, beauty, and bravery—the sooner the better.

Mr Bulstrode (pouring himself out a glass of water, and opening a sandwich box).—I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?

Mr Vincy.—No, no; I've no opinion of that system. Life wants padding.

I've never changed: I'm a plain Churchman now, just as I used to be before doctrines came up. I take the world as I find it, in trade and everything else. I'm contented to be no worse than my neighbours.

If you come to religion, it seems to me a man shouldn't want to carve out his meat to an ounce beforehand one must trust a little to Providence and be generous.

(To Bulstrode).-I never professed to be anything. but worldly and, what's more, I don't see anybody else who is not worldly. I suppose you don't conduct business on what you call unworldly principles. The only difference I see is that one worldliness is a little bit honester than another.

Mr Vincy. I tell you the lad's an unlucky lad, Lucy. And you've always spoiled him.

Mrs Vincy.-Well, Vincy, he was my first, and you made a fine fuss with him when he came. You were as proud as proud.

Mr Vincy.-Who knows what babies will turn to ? I was fool enough, I daresay. .

Mr Trumbull.-Now, ladies, I shall appeal to you.

Here is a fender which at any other sale would hardly be offered without reserve, being, as I may say, for quality of steel and quaintness of design, a kind of thing that might not fall in with ordinary tastes. Allow me to tell you that by-and-by this style of workmanship will be the only one in vogue-half-a-crown, you said? thank you-going at half-a-crown, this characteristic fender; and I have particular information that the antique style is very much sought after in high quarters. Three shillings-three-and-sixpencehold it well up, Joseph! Look, ladies, at the chastity of the design-I have no doubt myself that it was turned out in the last century! Four shillings, Mr Mawmsey?-four shillings.

Mrs Mawmsey.—It's not a thing I would put in my drawing-room. I wonder at Mrs Larcher. Every blessed child's head that fell against it would be cut in two. The edge is like a knife.

Mr Trumbull.-Quite true, and most uncommonly useful to have a fender at hand that will cut, if you have a leather shoe-tie or a bit of string that wants cutting and no knife at hand : many a man has been left hanging because there was no knife to cut him down. Gentlemen, here's a fender that if you had the misfortune to hang yourselves would cut you down in no time-with astonishing celerity-four-and-sixpence -five-five-and-sixpence an appropriate thing for a spare bedroom where there was a four-poster and a guest a little out of his mind-six shillings-thank you, Mr Clintup-going at six shillings-going-gone!

Mr Clintup.-It was worth six shillings to have a fender you could always tell that joke on.

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Mr Trumbull.-Now, ladies, this tray contains a very recherchy lot—a collection of trifles for the drawing

room table—and trifles make the sum of human things -nothing more important than trifles—(yes, Mr Ladislaw, yes, by-and-by)—but pass the tray round, Josephthese bijoux must be examined, ladies. This I have in my hand is an ingenious contrivance-a sort of practical iebus, I may call it here, you see, it looks like an elegant heart-shaped box, portable-for the pocket: there again, it becomes like a splendid double flower— an ornament for the table; and now-a book of riddles! No less than five hundred printed in a beautiful red. Gentlemen, if I had less of a conscience, I should not wish you to bid high for this lot—I have a longing for it myself. What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, more than a good riddle?—it hinders profane language, and attaches a man to the society of refined females. This ingenious article itself, without the elegant domino-box, card-basket, &c., ought alone to give a high price to the lot. Carried in the pocket it might make an individual welcome in any society. Four shillings, sir?-four shillings for this remarkable collection of riddles with the et cæteras. Here is a sample: How must you spell honey to make it catch lady-birds? Answer-money.' You hear?-ladybirds — honey —- money. This is an amusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a sting-it is what we call satire, and wit without indecency. Four-and-sixpence-five shillings.

Mr Trumbull.-Yes, Mr Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as a connoissure, I think. It is some pleasure to have a picture like this to show to a company of ladies and gentlemen-a picture worth any sum to an individual whose means were on a level