sion.

The Lady Castlewood was as much cast down by this news as Miss Beatrix was
indignant at it. "So," says she, "Castlewood is no longer a home for us,
mother. Frank's foreign wife will bring her confessor, and there will be
frogs for dinner; and all Tusher's and my grandfather's sermons are flung
away upon my brother. I used to tell you that you killed him with the
Catechism, and that he would turn wicked as soon as he broke from his
mammy's leading-strings. Oh, mother, you would not believe that the young
scapegrace was playing you tricks, and that sneak of a Tusher was not a
fit guide for him. Oh, those parsons! I hate 'em all," says Mistress
Beatrix, clapping her hands together; "yes, whether they wear cassocks and
buckles, or beards and bare feet. There's a horrid Irish wretch who never
misses a Sunday at Court, and who pays me compliments there, the horrible
man; and if you want to know what parsons are, you should see his
behaviour, and hear him talk of his own cloth. They're all the same,
whether they're bishops or bonzes, or Indian fakirs. They try to domineer,
and they frighten us with kingdom come; and they wear a sanctified air in
public, and expect us to go down on our knees and ask their blessing; and
they intrigue, and they grasp, and they backbite, and they slander worse
than the worst courtier or the wickedest old woman. I heard this Mr. Swift
sneering at my Lord Duke of Marlborough's courage the other day. He! that
Teague from Dublin! because his grace is not in favour, dares to say this
of him; and he says this that it may get to her Majesty's ear, and to coax
and wheedle Mrs. Masham. They say the Elector of Hanover has a dozen of
mistresses in his Court at Herrenhausen, and if he comes to be king over
us, I wager that the bishops and Mr. Swift, that wants to be one, will
coax and wheedle them. Oh, those priests and their grave airs! I'm sick of
their square toes and their rustling cassocks. I should like to go to a
country where there was not one, or turn Quaker, and get rid of 'em; and I
would, only the dress is not becoming, and I've much too pretty a figure
to hide it. Haven't I, cousin?" and here she glanced at her person and the
looking-glass, which told her rightly that a more beautiful shape and face
never were seen.

"I made that onslaught on the priests," says Miss Beatrix, afterwards, "in
order to divert my poor dear mother's anguish about Frank. Frank is as
vain as a girl, cousin. Talk