dear little foot on the toe of my boot. There
now,--up!--jump! hurrah!"

"THAT'S not the way, Captain," shouted out Thomas, still holding on to
the rein as the horse began to move. "Thee woan't goo with him, will
thee, Catty?"

But Mrs. Catherine, though she turned away her head, never let go her
hold round the Captain's waist; and he, swearing a dreadful oath at
Thomas, struck him across the face and hands with his riding whip. The
poor fellow, who at the first cut still held on to the rein, dropped it
at the second, and as the pair galloped off, sat down on the roadside
and fairly began to weep.

"MARCH, you dog!" shouted out the Corporal a minute after. And so he
did: and when next he saw Mrs. Catherine she WAS the Captain's lady sure
enough, and wore a grey hat, with a blue feather, and red riding-coat
trimmed with silverlace. But Thomas was then on a bare-backed horse,
which Corporal Brock was flanking round a ring, and he was so occupied
looking between his horse's ears that he had no time to cry then, and at
length got the better of his attachment.

*****

This being a good opportunity for closing Chapter I, we ought, perhaps,
to make some apologies to the public for introducing them to characters
that are so utterly worthless; as we confess all our heroes, with the
exception of Mr. Bullock, to be. In this we have consulted nature and
history, rather than the prevailing taste and the general manner of
authors. The amusing novel of "Ernest Maltravers," for instance, opens
with a seduction; but then it is performed by people of the strictest
virtue on both sides: and there is so much religion and philosophy in
the heart of the seducer, so much tender innocence in the soul of the
seduced, that--bless the little dears!--their very peccadilloes make
one interested in them; and their naughtiness becomes quite sacred, so
deliciously is it described. Now, if we ARE to be interested by rascally
actions, let us have them with plain faces, and let them be performed,
not by virtuous philosophers, but by rascals. Another clever class of
novelists adopt the contrary system, and create interest by making their
rascals perform virtuous actions. Against these popular plans we here
solemnly appeal. We say, let your rogues in novels act like rogues,
and your honest men like honest men; don't let us have any juggling
and thimble-rigging with virtue and vice, so that, at the end of three
volumes, the bewild