minister who has been hastily dismissed, I shall be ultimately recalled.  And yet he is not without gleams of sense, is occasionally sprightly, and has perceptions of principle that might have made him a man—­an individual being:  but now, having neither firmness, resolution to carry out a good purpose, nor self-respect, he is a miserable and wretched cipher, whose whole value depends on the figure that is next him.  Yes, I know—­I feel—­he will recall me to his councils.”

At length the hour of half-past eleven arrived, and in Sir Thomas Gourlay’s drawing-room were assembled all those who had been asked to be present, or to take the usual part in the marriage ceremony.  Dr. Sombre, the clergyman of the parish, had just arrived, and, having entered the drawing-room, made a bow that would not have disgraced a bishop.  He was pretty well advanced in years, excessively stupid, and possessed so vile a memory for faces, that he was seldom able to recognize his own guests, if he happened to meet them in the streets on the following day.  He was an expectant for preferment in the church, and if the gift of a good appetite were a successful recommendation for a mitre, as that of a strong head has been before now, no man was better entitled to wear it.  Be this as it may, the good man, who expected to partake of an excellent dejuner, felt that it was a portion of his duty to give a word or two of advice to the young couple upon the solemn and important duties into the discharge of which they were about to enter.  Accordingly, looking round the room, he saw Mr. Roberts and Lady Emily engaged, at a window, in what appeared to him to be such a conversation as might naturally take place between parties about to be united.  Lucy had not yet made her appearance, but Dunroe was present, and on seeing the Rev. Doctor join them, was not at all sorry at the interruption.  This word of advice, by the way, was a stereotyped commodity with the Doctor, who had not married a couple for the last thirty years, without palming it on them as an extempore piece of admonition arising from that particular occasion.  The worthy man was, indeed, the better qualified to give it, having never been married himself, and might, therefore, be considered as perfectly free from prejudices affecting either party upon the subject.

“You, my dear children, are the parties about to be united?” said he, addressing Roberts and Lady Emily, with a bow that had in it a strong professional innuendo, but of what nature was yet to be learned.

“Yes, sir,” replied Roberts, who at once perceived the good man’s mistake, and was determined to carry out whatever jest might arise from it.

“Oh no, sir,” replied Lady Emily, blushing deeply; “we are not the parties.”

“Because,” proceeded the Doctor, “I think I could not do better than give you, while together, a few words—­just a little homily, as it were—­upon the nature of the duties into which you are about to enter.”