would have run after him and fetched him back. You have no
idea how full of fun he was. Poor Peter! with all his faults I could
not help liking him, for he was charming at times. He could set you
off into a fit of laughter with a word. He had a knack of his own for
springing a joke upon you in the most unexpected way. I shall never
forget the evening when they came to tell me that he had been found
dead on the road to Langoat. I went and had him properly laid out. He
was buried, and the priest spoke in consoling terms about the death
of these poor waifs whose heart is not always so far from God as some
people may imagine."

Poor Uncle Pierre! I have often thought of him. This tardy esteem will
be his sole recompense. The metaphysical paradise would be no place
for him. His lively imagination, his high spirits, and his keen sense
of enjoyment constituted him for a distinct individualism in his
own sphere. My father's character was just the opposite, for he was
inclined to be sentimental and melancholy. It was when he was advanced
in years and upon his return from a long voyage that he gave me birth.
In the early dawn of my existence I felt, the cold sea mist, shivered
under the cutting morning blast and passed my bitter and gloomy watch
on the quarter-deck.

GOOD MASTER SYSTEME.

PART I.

I was related on my maternal grandmother's side to a much more prim
class of people. My grandmother was a very good specimen of the
middle-classes of former days. She had been excessively pretty. I can
remember her towards the close of her life, and she was always dressed
in the fashion which prevailed at the time of her being left a widow.
She was very particular about her class, never altered her head-dress,
and would not allow herself to be addressed except as "Mademoiselle."
The ladies of noble birth had a great respect for her. When they met
my sister Henrietta they used to kiss her and say, "My dear, your
grandmother was a very respectable person, we were very fond of her.
Try to be like her." And as it happened my sister did like her very
much and took her as a pattern, but my mother, always laughing and
full of wit, differed from her very much. Mother and daughter were in
all respects a marked contrast.

The worthy burghers of Lannion and their families were models of
simplicity, honour, and respectability. Several of my aunts never
married, but they were very light-spirited and cheerful, thanks to the
innocence o