ills to
which flesh is exposed, and which so generally increase with our years
that good health is scarcely compatible with the decaying faculties of
old age. Gentlemen, your good healths!"

CHAPTER XIII.

THE morning after these birthday rejoicings, Sir Peter and Lady
Chillingly held a long consultation on the peculiarities of their heir,
and the best mode of instilling into his mind the expediency either
of entertaining more pleasing views, or at least of professing less
unpopular sentiments; compatibly of course, though they did not say it,
with the new ideas that were to govern his century. Having come to an
agreement on this delicate subject, they went forth, arm in arm, in
search of their heir. Kenelm seldom met them at breakfast. He was an
early riser, and accustomed to solitary rambles before his parents were
out of bed.

The worthy pair found Kenelm seated on the banks of a trout-stream that
meandered through Chillingly Park, dipping his line into the water, and
yawning, with apparent relief in that operation.

"Does fishing amuse you, my boy?" said Sir Peter, heartily.

"Not in the least, sir," answered Kenelm.

"Then why do you do it?" asked Lady Chillingly.

"Because I know nothing else that amuses me more."

"Ah! that is it," said Sir Peter: "the whole secret of Kenelm's oddities
is to be found in these words, my dear; he needs amusement. Voltaire
says truly, 'Amusement is one of the wants of man.' And if Kenelm could
be amused like other people, he would be like other people."

"In that case," said Kenelm, gravely, and extracting from the water
a small but lively trout, which settled itself in Lady Chillingly's
lap,--"in that case I would rather not be amused. I have no interest
in the absurdities of other people. The instinct of self-preservation
compels me to have some interest in my own."

"Kenelm, sir," exclaimed Lady Chillingly, with an animation into which
her tranquil ladyship was very rarely betrayed, "take away that horrid
damp thing! Put down your rod and attend to what your father says. Your
strange conduct gives us cause of serious anxiety."

Kenelm unhooked the trout, deposited the fish in his basket, and raising
his large eyes to his father's face, said, "What is there in my conduct
that occasions you displeasure?"

"Not displeasure, Kenelm," said Sir Peter, kindly, "but anxiety; your
mother has hit upon the right word. You see, my dear son, that it is
my wish that you sho