h the reader has
observed he sometimes adopted, and which perhaps his dramatic studies
had taught him.

"Nay, Morton, what do you grieve for?--that Age should throw off its
fardel of aches and pains, and no longer groan along its weary road,
meeting cold looks and unwilling welcomes, as both host and comrade grow
weary of the same face, and the spendthrift heart has no longer quip
or smile wherewith to pay the reckoning? No, no: let the poor pedler
shuffle off his dull pack, and fall asleep. But I am glad you are come:
I would sooner have one of your kind looks at your uncle's stale saws or
jests than all the long faces about me, saving only the presence of
your mother;" and with his characteristic gallantry, my uncle turned
courteously to her.

"Dear Sir William!" said she, "it is time you should take your draught;
and then would it not be better that you should see the chaplain? he
waits without."

"Ods fish," said my uncle, turning again to me, "'tis the way with them
all: when the body is past hope comes the physician, and when the soul
is past mending comes the priest. No, Madam, no, 'tis too late for
either.--Thank ye, Morton, thank ye" (as I started up--took the draught
from my mother's hand, and besought him to drink it), "'tis of no use;
but if it pleases thee, I must,"--and he drank the medicine.

My mother rose, and walked towards the door: it was ajar; and, as my eye
followed her figure, I perceived, through the opening, the black garb of
the chaplain.

"Not yet," said she, quietly; "wait." And then gliding away, seated
herself by the window in silence, and told her beads.

My uncle continued: "They have been at me, Morton, as if I had been a
pagan; and I believe, in their hearts, they are not a little scandalized
that I don't try to win the next world by trembling like an ague. Faith
now, I never could believe that Heaven was so partial to cowards; nor
can I think, Morton, that Salvation is like a soldier's muster-roll, and
that we may play the devil between hours, so that, at the last moment,
we whip in, and answer to our names. Ods fish, Morton, I could tell thee
a tale of that; but 'tis a long one, and we have not time now. Well,
well, for my part, I deem reverently and gratefully of God, and do not
believe He will be very wroth with our past enjoyment of life, if we
have taken care that others should enjoy it too; nor do I think, with
thy good mother, and Aubrey, dear child! that an idle word has