“And I,” said Mrs. Oxley, “always drinks my ’usband’s principles.  In Lunnon, where true ’igh life is, ladies don’t refuse to drink toasts.  I know that feyther, both before and after his removal to Lunnon, used to make us all drink the ’’Ard ware of Old Hingland’—­by witch,” she proceeded, correcting herself by a reproving glance from the sheriff—­“by witch he meant what he called the glorious sinews of the country at large, lestwise in the manufacturing districts.  But upon a subject like this”—­and she looked with something like disdain at those who had turned down their glasses—­“every lady as is a lady ought to ’ave no objection to hexplain her principles by drinking the toast; but p’raps it ain’t fair to press it upon some of ’em.”

“Well, then,” proceeded the squire, with a laugh that seemed to have more than mirth in it, “are all the loyal subjects of the crown ready?  Lord Deilmacare, your glass is not filled; won’t you drink it?”

“To be sure,” replied his lordship; “I have no hatred against Papists; I get my rent by their labor; but I never wish to spoil sport—­get along—­I’ll do anything.”

With the exceptions already mentioned, the toast was drank immediately, after which the ladies retired to the drawing-room.

“Now, gentlemen,” said the squire, “fill your glasses, and let us enjoy ourselves.  You have a right to be proud of your wife, Mr. Sheriff, and you too, Sir Jenkins—­for,—­upon my soul, if it had been his Majesty’s health, her ladyship couldn’t have honored it with a fuller bumper.  And, Smellpriest, your wife did the thing handsomely as well as the rest.  Upon my soul, you ought to be happy men, with three women so deeply imbued with the true spirit of our glorious Constitution.”

“Ah, Mr. Folliard,” said Smellpriest, “you don’t know the value of that woman.  When I return, for instance, after a hunt, the first question she puts to me is—­Well, my love, how many priests did you catch to-day?  And out comes Mr. Strong with the same question.  Strong, however, between ourselves, is a goose; he will believe any thing, and often sends me upon a cold trail.  Now, I pledge you my honor, gentlemen, that this man, who is all zeal, has sent me out dozens of times, with the strictest instructions as to where I’d catch my priest; but, hang me, if ever I caught a single priest upon his instructions yet! still, although unfortunate in this kind of sport, his heart is in the right place.  Whitecraft, my worthy brother sportsman, how does it happen that Reilly continues to escape you?”

“Why does he continue to escape yourself, captain?” replied the baronet.

“Why,” said the other, “because I am more in the ecclesiastical line, and, besides, he is considered to be, in an especial manner, your game.”

“I will have him yet, though,” said Whitecraft, “if he should assume as many shapes as Proteus.”

“By the way, Whitecraft,” observed Folliard, “they tell me you burned the unfor—­you burned the scoundrel’s house and offices.”