“True; very true; that was sixty years ago; you can hardly recollect as long.  Ah!  Mr. Denbigh, times are sadly altered since my youth.  People who were then glad to ride on a pillion now drive their coaches; men who thought ale a luxury, drink their port; aye! and those who went barefoot must have their shoes and stockings, too.  Luxury, sir, and the love of ease, will ruin this mighty empire.  Corruption has taken hold of everything; the ministry buy the members, he members buy the ministry; everything is bought and sold.  Now, sir, in the parliament in which I had the honor of a seat, there was a knot of us, as upright as posts, sir.  My Lord Gosford was one, and General Denbigh was another, although I can’t say he was much a favorite with me.  You do not look in the least like him.  How was he related to you, sir?”

“He was my grandfather,” replied Denbigh, looking pleasantly at Emily, as if to tell her he understood the character of her uncle.

Had the old man continued his speech an hour longer, Denbigh would not have complained.  They had stopped while talking, and he thus became confronted with the beautiful figure that supported the other arm.  Denbigh contemplated in admiration the varying countenance which now blushed with apprehension, and now smiled in affection, or even with an archer expression, as her uncle proceeded in his harangue on the times.  But all felicity in this world has an end, as well as misery.  Denbigh retained the recollection of that speech long after Mr. Benfield was comfortably seated in the parlor, though for his life he could not recollect a word he had said.

The Haughtons, the Jarvises, and a few more of their intimate acquaintances, arrived, and the parsonage had a busy air; but John, who had undertaken to drive Grace Chatterton in his own phaeton, was yet absent.  Some little anxiety had begun to be manifested, when he appeared, dashing through the gates at a great rate, and with the skill of a member of the four-in-hand.

Lady Chatterton had begun to be seriously uneasy, and she was about to speak to her son to go in quest of them, as they came in sight; but now her fears vanished, and she could only suppose that a desire to have Grace alone could keep one who bad the reputation of a Jehu so much behind the rest of the party.  She met them in great spirits, crying,

“Upon my word, Mr. Moseley, I began to think you had taken the road to Scotland, you stayed so long.”

“Your daughter, my Lady Chatterton,” said John, pithily, “would go to Scotland neither with me nor any other man, or I am greatly deceived in her character.  Glara, my sister, how do you do?” He saluted the bride with great warmth and affection.

“But what detained you, Moseley?” inquired the mother.

“One of the horses was restive, and he broke the harness.  We merely stopped in the village while it was mended.”

“And how did Grace behave?” asked Emily, laughing.