a mere eccentric. Here she learned that he was a man of immense fortune, and economical habits; careless of appearances; and with only this son Tom to inherit his thousands.

The die was cast. Tom was very produceable in the absence of his father. Vulgarity often passed under the name of oddity, and it would be easy to avoid the father in London. Tom was exceedingly well worth looking after, and Tom she resolved to angle for. She could easily have a fourth daughter brought forward, if the three expected London lovers fulfilled her anticipations.

Fanny did, to be sure, open her eyes a little wider than usual on beholding Mrs. Temple's smiling recognition of the Bartons; but she placed the affair to the account of kindness towards herself, and sought for no deeper motive.

"We are not long arrived here, Mr. Barton," said the lady, graciously, "and have not yet discovered the amusements of the place, perhaps you can enlighten us on the subject. How do you pass your mornings?"

"Oh-Oh, I-Oh, I have my breakfast-I have my breakfast. No, sometimes I bathesometimes I bathe first; and then-then I read -then I read the papers-and then I shave."

any

"Then, Ma'am, I-Then, Ma'am, I and Tom - Tom and I-we go into the market, and see if -see if there's-see if there's think we fancy for dinner; then we take a stroll; that's the way we sometimes meets you, Maʼam, and these young ladies, and that fills up till dinner time. Tom! what's o'clock?" he inquired, "for my appetite says near three."

"You take rather a late luncheon," pursued Mrs. Temple, who determined to ascertain his movements, that she might be qualified to avoid him on occasion.

“I—I never—I never take luncheon at all," continued the dry-salter, "I dine-I dine-I dine at three. Its the proper hour. How can -how can a man-how can a man dine later, and have time to take his three bottles quietly. Three o'clock-three o'clock is the best hour for dinner. Its the only-its the only sensible-its the only sensible hour; and whoever dines later is a-whoever dines later is a fool, and a booby, and a jackanapes. Now here is my son Tom, here, pretends to say-to say, it cuts up his day; and I know not-I know not what fantastical

folly, as if his-his old father, didn't know better than him; but he-he thinks-he thinks himself, forsooth, so clever, because he'd a college edication, and knows a-knows-knows an elephant from a co-co-co, cock lobster."

A cock lobster was the favourite simile of old Barton. Whenever his son displayed his learning, the elephant and cock lobster rose up in judgment on his father's tongue. If he passed an opinion, he was told he knew no more of the matter than a cock lobster. If he looked disturbed, or annoyed, he was compared to the obnoxious fish aforesaid; and, if the word came forth stammeringly, with a co-co-co, then was Tom Barton certain his honoured father was in a rage. On this occasion he had sinned, in not instantaneously replying to the old man's question respecting the hour, and he hastened "to the rescue," in hopes of preventing farther exposure of his father's temper.

CHAPTER X.

Battel Abbey.

IN describing his morning's avocations, Mr. Barton had left out the trifling circumstance, that, although he invariably visited the market, and insisted on dragging his son on the same expedition, yet, although inquiring the price of every article he passed, he had never once, during their six weeks' residence at Hastings, purchased a single thing. After touching, pricing, and cheapening, fish, fowl, and the et ceteras, exposed for sale, declaring all to be too dear, and none to be good enough, the examination ended by his customary sigh, and an observation, that there was nothing in the market fit to put upon a table, and that, after all, "Mutton chops were as good as any thing else, and their landlady could get them."

"Here's a beautiful turbot, Sir. I never sold a greater beauty. Look at the thickness of him, Sir: only look, Sir."

“Yes, and—and a—and a beautiful price, I

suppose, you ask. What have-what have you -what have you now the conscience to ask?" "Twelve shillings, Sir."

"Twelve fid-fid-fiddle sticks! I could buy as-buy as good in Leadenhall market for ten.' "But the freshness, Sir, consider!"

"Fresh! Wheugh! that's the-that's just the fault of it. There never-there never was a fish yet fit to eat fresh, unless, perhaps, a 'Tems' flounder. You-you-you know nothing about fish down here."

"Fine soles, Sir! very cheap to-day."

"Pooh, pooh; too

and too small to boil.

good for after all?

large-too large to fry,

And what-what's a sole

You've nothing here but

flat fish, wouldn't give-wouldn't give a pin, for all the flat fish that ever were caught. What's that turkey? Like a turkey to-day, Tom?" "If you like, Sir."

"The woman's mad: you'll get a finer, in Leadenhall, I tell you-I tell you, for half the— half the money."

"Yes, Sir, I dare say; but poultry's scarce here. Like a chicken, Sir, or duck; here's nice ducks."

"Foul feeders-foul feeders; hate ducks. Let's see the chickens. There, take them away