they called him crazy Middleton at Cambridge. Mad indeed, not to be ready for dinner. Hick, hick, hey?"

"I question whether his toilet detains him,” said Lady Middleton with a sneering smile, as they sate down; "he does not trouble himself much with sacrificing to the Graces.”

"Nay now," said his sister, "I think Gale is always graceful. He is so handsome and well-made that he cannot look otherwise; but I do wish he would pay a little more attention to the fashion of the day. He might take a few hints from Sir Dennis Lifford."

Ay, indeed," said Lady Middleton, “Sir Dennis is a perfect model of high-born and high-bred elegance and gentility, always dressed in the supreme of the fashion, and yet without any foppery or dandyism. Gale had better remain the sloven that he is, than vainly attempt to imitate the inimitable."

As Sir Matthew, who was a professed epicure, as well as a free and almost invincible toper, seldom said any thing at dinner that did not bear immediate reference to the viands

or wines before him, he took no part in this colloquy, confining himself to occasional exclamations of, "Good soup-good soup, hey! leetle too salt: toast not fried, shocking! Devil sends bad meat, heaven sends good cooks, ha! Fish tough; bought it of Higgins too: rascal! -No nutmeg in sauce. Shameful! Glass wine, dear, hey? Ont'ee join us, Ciss? Ha, capital Madeira! went out twice in the Ganges, Captain Tugwell."

At this moment the son hurried into the room, making many apologies for being so late, which he attributed to his not having heard the dinner-bell. "See what 'ee lost, boy!" said the father, pointing reproachfully to the table. "Fish cold, soup cold. Serve 'ee right."

"Oh, Sir, it will do perfectly well for me," replied Gale, proceeding to help himself. "I am only sorry that I should have appeared so rude."

Vexed as Sir Matthew really was at his impunctuality upon so important an occasion as dinner, his paternal bowels yearned with such

compassion when he saw him about to select the very worst part of the fish, that, without stopping to empty his mouth, he sputtered out, "My dear boy! what 'ee about, what 'ee about? underneath part turbot always best. Put it back, put it back, hey!"—after which advice he addressed himself to a saddle of mutton, his favourite dish, with such assiduity, that for some time he did not utter a word, excepting two or three interjections, expressive of perfect satisfaction.

room.

Any one who had overheard Cecilia's observation about her brother would have recognised its truth the moment he came into the Rendered perfectly free and unembarrassed by his utter indifference to appearances, his well-proportioned form was never thrown into an ungraceful attitude, while his youthful aspect, dark intelligent eyes, thoughtful brow, and earnest countenance, fully warranted the commendation that had been bestowed upon them, in spite of the wanness of his cheek and an expression of unhappiness that overshadowed his handsome features like a cloud. For his

dress, however, if scrutinised by the rigid code of fashion, no valid defence could be offered. His clothes, indeed, were in good preservation, nor did they seem to have been made by an unskilful artist; but they were unbrushed, and put on in so careless and untidy a manner that they looked worse, both in quality and fashion, than they really were. Instead of neckcloth, of which he could never bear the irksome restraint, a broad black ribbon was passed loosely round his throat; and his noble head of dark hair, parted at top, and falling on either side in waving curls, however becoming and picturesque it might have appeared to an artist, would have been condemned by a fashionist as utterly at variance with every tonsorial mode that then existed. He ate little and spoke less, seeming to labour under a depression of spirits, upon which his father occasionally rallied him with a boisterous coarseness, that rather served to aggravate the seriousness it was intended to dispel.

It was one of Lady Middleton's imitative affectations, copied of course by Cecilia, to speak

French to Dupin, who was a Parisian, and understood but little English. To Sir Matthew, who knew not a word of the Gaul's language, this was a subject of sore annoyance, as it sometimes occasioned his orders to be misunderstood, when he would get into a passion, and swear at the foreigner for his involuntary mistakes. During the dessert he took occasion to stigmatise the fashion of selecting aliens for domestics, as not less absurd than unfeeling and unpatriotic, at a moment when so many Englishmen were starving for want of employment. The son, however indifferent he had been to the previous topics of conversation, which indeed had chiefly borne a reference to the dinner, eagerly took up the Baronet's argument, his whole countenance becoming animated, and his feelings evidently roused, as with a vehement eloquence he vindicated the claims of the lower orders of his fellow-countrymen, and exposed the cruelty of bestowing the situations to which they had a natural right upon aliens and strangers. Piqued at his indignant tone, which she thought disrespectful to herself,