It was a remarkable part of what is called by theatrical folks the by-play of this scene, that Albert was conversing apart with Doctor Rochecliffe in whispers, even more than the divine seemed desirous of encouraging;-yet, to whatever their private conversation referred, it did not deprive the young Colonel from the power of listening to what was going forward in the party at large, and interfering from time to time, like a watch-dog, who can distinguish the slightest alarm, even when employed in the engrossing process of taking his food.

"Captain Wildrake," said Albert, "we have no objection-I mean my friend and I-to be communicative on proper occasions; but you, sir, who are so old a sufferer, must needs know, that at such casual meetings as this, men do not mention their names unless they are specially wanted. It is a point of conscience, sir, to be able to say, if your principal, Captain Everard or Colonel Everard, if he be a Colonel, should examine you upon oath, I did not know who the persons were whom I heard drink such and such toasts."

"Faith, I have a better way of it, worthy sir," answered Wildrake; "I never can, for the life

of me, remember that there were any such and such toasts drunk at all-It's a strange gift of forgetfulness I have."

"Well, sir," replied the younger Lee; "but we, who have unhappily more tenacious memories, would willingly abide by the more general rule."

"Oh, sir," answered Wildrake, "with all my heart. I intrude on no man's confidence, d-n me -and I only spoke for civility's sake, having the purpose of drinking your health in a good fashion -(Then he broke forth into melody)

Then let the health go round, a-round, a-round, a-round, Then let the health go round;

For though your stocking be of silk,

Your knee shall kiss the ground, a-ground, a-ground, a-ground, Your knee shall kiss the ground.'"

"Urge it no farther," said Sir Henry, addressing his son ; "Master Wildrake is one of the old school-one of the tantivy boys; and we must bear a little, for if they drink hard they fought well. I will never forget how a party came up and rescued us clerks of Oxford, as they called the regiment I belonged to, out of a cursed embroglio during the attack on Brentford. I tell you we were enclosed with the cockneys' pikes both front and rear, and we should have come off but

ill had not Lunsford's light horse, the babe-eaters as they called them, charged up to the pike's point, and brought us off."

"I am glad you thought on that, Sir Henry," said Wildrake; "and do you remember what the officer of Lunsford's said ?"

"I think I do," said Sir Henry smiling.

"Well then, did not he call out, when the women were coming down, howling like syrens as they were Have none of you a plump child that you could give us, to break our fast upon ?'”

"Truth itself," said the knight; " and a great fat woman stepped forward with a baby, and offered it to the supposed cannibal."

All at the table, Master Kerneguy excepted, who seemed to think that good food of any kind required no apology, held up their hands in token of amazement.

Ay," said Wildrake, "the-a-hem !-I crave the lady's pardon again, from tip of top-knot to hem of farthingale.-But the cursed creature proved to be a parish nurse, who had been paid for the child half a year in advance. Gad, I took the baby out of the bitch-wolf's hand; and I have contrived, though God knows I have lived in a

skeldering sort of way myself, to breed up bold Breakfast, as I call him, ever since.-It was paying dear for a jest though."

"Sir, I honour you for your humanity-Sir, I thank you for your courage-Sir, I am glad to see you here,” said the good knight, his eyes watering almost to overflowing. "So you were the wild officer who cut us out of the toils ?-Oh, sir, had you but stopped when I called on you, and allowed us to clear the streets of Brentford with our musketeers, we would have been at London Stone that day. But your good-will was the same."

66

Ay, truly was it," said Wildrake, who now sat triumphant and glorious in his easy-chair; "And here is to all the brave hearts, sir, that fought and fell in that same storm of Brentford. We drove all before us like chaff, till the shops, where they sold strong waters, and other temptations, brought us up-Gad, sir, we, the babe-eaters, had too many acquaintances in Brentford, and our stout Prince Rupert was ever better at making way than drawing off. Gad, sir, for my own poor share, I did but go into the house of a poor widow lady, who maintained a charge of daughters, and whom I had known of old, to get my horse fed, a morsel of

meat, and so forth, when these cockney-pikes of the artillery ground, as you very well call them, rallied, and came in with their armed heads, as boldly as so many Cotswold rams. I sprang down stairs-got to my horse-but, egad, I fancy all my troop had widows and orphan maidens to comfort as well as I, for only five of us got together. We cut our way through successfully-and Gad, gentlemen, I carried my little Breakfast on the pommel before me; and there was such a hollowing and screeching, as if the whole town thought I was to kill, roast, and eat the poor child, so soon as I got to quarters. But devil a cockney charged up to my bonny bay, poor lass, to rescue little cake-bread; they only cried haro, and out upon

me.

cause.

"Alas, alas!" said the knight, 66 we made ourselves seem worse than we were; and we were too bad to deserve God's blessing even in a good But it is needless to look back-we did not deserve victories when God gave them, for we never improved them like good soldiers, or like Christian men; and so we gave these canting scoundrels the advantage of us, for they assumed, out of mere hypocrisy, the discipline and orderly