es, sir; 'tis Sir Guy Morville. You have heard tell of the old Sir Guy
Morville, for he made a deal of noise in the world.'

'What! The noted--'

'I ought not to allow you to finish your sentence,' said Guy, very
courteously, 'without telling you that I am his grandson.'

'I beg your pardon!' exclaimed the traveller.

'Nay,' said Guy, with a smile; 'I only thought it was fair to tell you.'

'Sir Guy himself!' said the coachman, turning round, and touching his
hat, anxious to do the honours of his coach. 'I have not seen you on
this road before, sir, for I never forget a face; I hope you'll often be
this way.'

After a few more civilities, Guy was at liberty to attend to the fresh
influx of sad musings on thoughtless waste affecting not only the
destiny of the individual himself, but whole generations besides. How
many souls might it not have ruined? 'These sheep, what had they done!'
His grandfather had repented, but who was to preach repentance unto
these? He did not wonder now that his own hopes of happiness had been
blighted; he only marvelled that a bright present or future had ever
been his--

While souls were wandering far and wide,
And curses swarmed on every side.

The traveller was, meanwhile, observing the heir of Redclyffe, possessor
of wealth and wide lands. Little did he guess how that bright-eyed youth
looked upon his riches.

Miles were passed in one long melancholy musing, till Guy was roused by
the sight of familiar scenes, and found himself rattling over the stones
of the little borough of Moorworth, with the gray, large-windowed,
old-fashioned houses, on each side, looking at him with friendly eyes.
There, behind those limes cut out in arches, was the commercial school,
where he had spent many an hour in construing with patient Mr. Potts;
and though he had now a juster appreciation of his old master's
erudition, which he had once thought so vast, he recollected with
veneration his long and patient submission to an irksome, uncongenial
life. Rumbling on, the coach was in the square market-place, the
odd-looking octagon market-house in the middle, and the inn--the
respectable old 'George'--with its long rank of stables and
out-buildings forming one side. It was at this inn that Guy had been
born, and the mistress having been the first person who had him in her
arms, considered herself privileged to have a great affection for him,
and had delighted in the greetings he alway