A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two worthy dames, and the young people were forbidden to think of one another.  As to young Jack, he was too much in love to reason upon the matter; and being a little heady, and not standing in much awe of his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbetses to his passion.  He had lately, however, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, in consequence of some coquetry on her part, and at present stood aloof.  The politic mother was exerting all her ingenuity to widen this accidental breach; but, as is most commonly the case, the more she meddled with this perverse inclination of her son, the stronger it grew.  In the meantime Old Ready-Money was kept completely in the dark; both parties were in awe and uncertainty as to what might be his way of taking the matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping lion.  Between father and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business and at her wits’ end.  It is true that there was no great danger of honest Ready-Money’s finding the thing out, if left to himself; for he was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of apprehension; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused by those cobwebs which his indefatigable wife was continually spinning about his nose.

Such is the distracted state of politics in the domestic empire of Ready-Money Jack; which only shows the intrigues and internal dangers to which the best regulated governments are liable.  In this perplexing situation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to Master Simon for counsel; and, with all his experience in meddling with other people’s concerns, he finds it an exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with both parties, seeing that their opinions and wishes are so diametrically opposite.

[Illustration:  A Tailpiece]

[Illustration:  Christy on Pepper]

Horsemanship.

A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put both horse and man into amazement.  Some said it was a great crabshell brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one of the Pagan temples in which the Cannibals adored the divell.

     Taylor, the water Poet.

I have made casual mention, more than once, of one of the squire’s antiquated retainers, old Christy the huntsman.  I find that his crabbed humour is a source of much entertainment among the young men of the family:  the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mischievous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing the old man against the grain, and then smoothing him down again; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle up his back as a porcupine.  He rides a venerable hunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of himself, a heady, cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh off its bones; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks.  He is as tough, and nearly