in a country dance, and upon very extraordinary
occasions would treat the company to a certain remarkable hornpipe,
which put the walls in danger of tumbling about their ears, and belonged
to him as exclusively as the Hazelby sauce. It was a sort of parody on a
pas seul which he had once seen at the Opera-house, in which his face,
his figure, his costume, his rich humour, and his strange, awkward,
unexpected activity, told amazingly. "The force of _frolic_ could no
farther go" than "the Doctor's hornpipe," It was the climax of jollity.

* * * * *

In his shop and his household he had no need either of partner or of
wife: the one was excellently managed by an old rheumatic journeyman,
slow in speech, and of vinegar aspect, who had been a pedagogue in
his youth, and now used to limp about with his Livy in his pocket,
and growl as he compounded the medicines over the bad latinity of the
prescriptions; the other was equally well conducted by an equally
ancient housekeeper and a cherry-cheeked niece, the orphan-daughter of
his only sister, who kept every thing within doors in the bright and
shining order in which he delighted. John Hallett, notwithstanding the
roughness of his aspect, was rather knick-knacky in his tastes; a great
patron of small inventions, such as the _improved_ ne plus ultra
cork-screw, and the latest patent snuffers. He also trifled with
horticulture, dabbled in tulips, was a connoisseur in pinks, and had
gained a prize for polyanthuses. The garden was under the especial care
of his pretty niece, Miss Susan, a grateful warm-hearted girl, who
thought she never could do enough to please her good uncle, and prove
her sense of his kindness. He was indeed as fond of her as if he had
been her father, and as kind.

Perhaps there was nothing very extraordinary in his goodness to the
gentle and cheerful little girl who kept his walks so trim and his
parlour so neat, who always met him with a smile, and who (last and
strongest tie to a generous mind) was wholly dependent on him--had no
friend on earth but himself. There was nothing very uncommon in that.
But John Hallett was kind to every one, even where the sturdy old English
prejudices, which he cherished as virtues, might seem most likely to
counteract his gentler feelings.

* * * * *

"_The Evening Song of the Tyrolese Peasants_" by Mrs. Hemans, must close
our extracts from the present volume