the massive sense of wrong in a class, and the best wisdom that will work is the wisdom of balancing claims. That's my text-which side is injured? I support the man who supports their claims; not the virtuous upholder of the wrong.—Ladislaw.

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You made a bad hand at swapping when you went to anybody but me, Vincy. Why, you never threw your leg across a finer horse than that chestnut, and you gave him for this brute. If you set him cantering, he goes on like twenty sawyers. I never heard but one worse roarer in my life, and that was a roan: it belonged to Pegwell, the corn-factor; he used to drive him in his gig seven years ago, and he wanted me to take him, but I said, ‘Thank you, Peg, I don't deal in wind-instruments.' That was what I said. It went the round of the country, that joke did.—Mr Bambridge.

Mr Standish.-A fine woman, Miss Brooke! an uncommonly fine woman, by God!

Mr Chichely.-Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who lays herself out a little more to please us. There should be a little filigree about a woman—something of the coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge. The more of a dead set she makes at you the better.

Mr Standish.-There's some truth in that. And, by God, it's usually the way with them. I suppose it answers some wise ends: Providence made them so, eh, Bulstrode?

Mr Bulstrode.-I should be disposed to refer coquetry to another source. I should rather refer it to the devil.

Mr Chichely.-Ay, to be sure, there should be a little devil in a woman.

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Mrs Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when they are married. She says they get tired to death of each other, and can't quarrel comfortably, as they would at home.-Celia Brooke.

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I'n seen lots o' things turn up sin' I war a young un-the war an' the peace, and the canells, an' the oald King George, an' the Regen', an' the new King George, an' the new un as has got a new ne-ame— an' it's been all aloike to the poor mon. What's the canells been t' him? They 'n brought him neyther me-at nor be-acon, nor wage to lay by, if he didn't save it wi' clemmin' his own inside. Times ha' got wusser for him sin' I war a young un. An' so it'll be wi' the railroads. They'll on'y leave the poor mon furder behind. But them are fools as meddle. This is the big folks's world, this is.-Timothy Cooper.

Mr Mawmsey-As to Reform, sir, put it in a family light. Will it support Mrs Mawmsey, and enable her to bring up six children when I am no more? I put the question fictiously, knowing what must be the answer. Very well, sir. I ask you what, as a husband and a father, I am to do when gentlemen come to me and say, 'Do as you like, Mawmsey; but if you vote against us, I shall get my groceries elsewhere: when I sugar my liquor I like to feel that I am benefiting the country by maintaining tradesmen of the right colour.' Those very words have been spoken to me,

sir, in the very chair where you are now sitting. I don't mean by your honourable self, Mr Brooke.

Mr Brooke.

No, no, no-that's narrow, you know. Until my butler complains to me of your goods, Mr Mawmsey, until I hear that you send bad sugars, spices-that sort of thing—I shall never order him to go elsewhere.

Mr Mawmsey.—Sir, I am your humble servant, and greatly obliged. There would be some pleasure in voting for a gentleman who speaks in that honourable

manner.

Mr Brooke.-Well, you know, Mr Mawmsey, you would find it the right thing to put yourself on our side. This Reform will touch everybody by-and-bya thoroughly popular measure—a sort of A, B, C, you know, that must come first before the rest can follow. I quite agree with you that you've got to look at the thing in a family light but public spirit, now. We're all one family, you know-it's all one cupboard. Such a thing as a vote, now: why, it may help to make men's fortunes at the Cape-there's no knowing what may be the effect of a vote.

Mr Mawmsey.-I beg your pardon, sir, but I can't afford that. When I give a vote I must know what I'm doing; I must look to what will be the effects on my till and ledger, speaking respectfully. Prices, I'll admit, are what nobody can know the merits of; and the sudden falls after you've bought in currants, which are a goods that will not keep-I've never myself seen into the ins and outs there; which is a rebuke to human pride. But as to one family, there's debtor and creditor, I hope; they're not going to reform that away; else I should vote for things staying as they are. Few men have less need to cry for change than

I have, personally speaking- that is, for self and family. I am not one of those who have nothing to lose: I mean as to respectability both in parish and private business, and noways in respect of your honourable self and custom, which you was good enough to say you would not withdraw from me, vote or no vote, while the article sent in was satisfactory.

There are men who don't mind about being kicked blue if they can only get talked about.-Dr Sprague.

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We must not inquire too curiously into motives. They are apt to become feeble in the utterance: the aroma is mixed with the grosser air. We must keep the germinating grain away from the light.-Mr Casaubon.

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Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.-Mr Cadwallader.

(To Mrs Casaubon.)—There's a reason in mourning, as I've always said; and three folds at the bottom of your skirt and a plain quilling in your bonnet—and if ever anybody looked like an angel, it's you in a net quilling is what's consistent for a second year. At least, that's my thinking; and if anybody was to marry me flattering himself as I should wear those hijeous weepers two years for him, he'd be deceived by his own vanity, that's all.—Tantripp.

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Sir James Chettam.-I think that Dorothea commits a wrong action in marrying Ladislaw.

Mr Cadwallader.-My dear fellow, we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it is unpleasant

to us.

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Fred Vincy.—I don't know what to do, unless I can get at Mary's feeling.

Mr Farebrother.-You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going into the Church? Fred. If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrong in one way as another. Mr Farebrother.-That is nonsense, Fred. outlive their love, but they don't outlive the consequences of their recklessness.

Men

Fred.-Not my sort of love. I have never been without loving Mary. If I had to give her up, it would be like beginning to live on wooden legs.

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Mr Brooke.-Dagley, my good fellow.

Dagley.-Oh, ay, I'm a good feller, am I? Thank ye, sir, thank ye. I'm glad to hear I'm a good feller.

Mr Brooke.-Your little lad Jacob has been caught killing a leveret, Dagley: I have told Johnson to lock him up in the empty stable an hour or two, just to frighten him, you know. But he will be brought home by-and-by, before night: and you'll just look after him, will you, and give him a reprimand, you know?

Dagley.-No, I woon't: I'll be dee'd if I'll leather my boy to please you or anybody else, not if you was twenty landlords istid o' one, and that a bad un.

Mr Brooke.-Well, well, I'll speak to your wife—I didn't mean beating, you know. How do you do, Mrs Dagley? I came to tell you about your boy: I don't want you to give him the stick, you know.