feeling.

"You know his mother was an Absalom," the good wife continues, pointing
to her husband. "Most respectable diamond merchants in----"

"Hold your tongue, Betsy, and leave my poor old mother alone; do now,"
says Mr. Sherrick darkly. Clive is in his uncle's fond embrace by this
time, who rebukes him for not having called in Walpole Street.

"Now, when will you two gents come up to my shop to 'ave a family
dinner?" asks Sherrick.

"Ah, Mr. Newcome, do come," says Julia in her deep rich voice, looking
up to him with her great black eyes. And if Clive had been a vain fellow
like some folks, who knows but he might have thought he had made an
impression on the handsome Julia?

"Thursday, now make it Thursday, if Mr. H. is disengaged. Come along,
girls, for the flies bites the ponies when they're a-standing still and
makes 'em mad this weather. Anything you like for dinner? Cut of salmon
and cucumber? No, pickled salmon's best this weather."

"Whatever you give me, you know I'm thankful!" says Honeyman, in a sweet
sad voice, to the two ladies, who were standing looking at him, the
mother's hand clasped in the daughter's.

"Should you like that Mendelssohn for the Sunday after next? Julia sings
it splendid!"

"No, I don't, ma."

"You do, dear! She's a good, good dear, Mr. H., that's what she is."

"You must not call--a--him, in that way. Don't say Mr. H., ma," says
Julia.

"Call me what you please!" says Charles, with the most heart-rending
simplicity; and Mrs. Sherrick straightway kisses her daughter. Sherrick
meanwhile has been pointing out the improvement of the chapel to Clive
(which now has indeed a look of the Gothic Hall at Rosherville), and has
confided to him the sum for which he screwed the painted window out of
old Moss. "When he come to see it up in this place, sir, the old man was
mad, I give you my word! His son ain't no good: says he knows you. He's
such a screw, that chap, that he'll overreach himself, mark my words.
At least, he'll never die rich. Did you ever hear of me screwing? No,
I spend my money like a man. How those girls are a-goin' on about their
music with Honeyman! I don't let 'em sing in the evening, or him do duty
more than once a day; and you can calc'late how the music draws, because
in the evenin' there ain't half the number of people here. Rev. Mr.
Journyman does the duty now--quiet Hogford man--ill, I suppose, this
morning. H. sits in his pew, where we was; and coughs; tha