elicate edition of his
father; and Blanche contrived to combine great likeness to him with a
great deal of prettiness. Of those that, as nurse said, favoured their
mamma, Margaret was tall and blooming, with the same calm eyes, but with
the brilliance of her father's smile; Flora had greater regularity of
feature, and was fast becoming a very pretty girl, while Mary and
Harry could not boast of much beauty, but were stout sturdy pictures of
health; Harry's locks in masses of small tight yellow curls, much given
to tangling and matting, unfit to be seen all the week, till nurse put
him to torture every Saturday, by combing them out so as, at least, to
make him for once like, she said, a gentleman, instead of a young lion.

Little Aubrey was said by his papa to be like nothing but the full moon.
And there he shone on them, by his mamma's side, announcing in language
few could understand, where he had been with papa.

"He has been a small doctor," said his father, beginning to cut the
boiled beef as fast as if his hands had been moved by machinery. "He has
been with me to see old Mrs. Robins, and she made so much of him, that
if I take him again he'll be regularly spoiled."

"Poor old woman, it must have been a pleasure to her," said Mrs.
May--"it is so seldom she has any change."

"Who is she?" asked Mr. Ernescliffe.

"The butcher's old mother," said Margaret, who was next to him. "She
is one of papa's pet patients, because he thinks her desolate and
ill-used."

"Her sons bully her," said the doctor, too intent on carving to perceive
certain deprecatory glances of caution cast at him by his wife, to
remind him of the presence of man and maid--"and that smart daughter is
worse still. She never comes to see the old lady but she throws her into
an agitated state, fit to bring on another attack. A meek old soul, not
fit to contend with them!"

"Why do they do it?" said Ethel.

"For the cause of all evil! That daughter marries a grazier, and wants
to set up for gentility; she comes and squeezes presents out of her
mother, and the whole family are distrusting each other, and squabbling
over the spoil before the poor old creature is dead! It makes one sick!
I gave that Mrs. Thorn a bit of my mind at last; I could not stand the
sight any longer. Madam, said I, you'll have to answer for your mother's
death, as sure as my name's Dick May--a harpy dressed up in feathers and
lace."

There was a great laugh, and an entreaty