I pray thee cease thy counsel,

Which falls into mine ears as profitless

As water in a sieve ; give me not counsel,

Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.

Much Ado about Nothing.

There's nothing that I cast may eyes upon

But shows both rich and admirable ; all the rooms

Are hung as if a princess were to dwell here ;

so curious !

The gardens, orchards, every thing

Is all that plate your own too ? Rule a Wife and have a Wife.

THE funeral day was at an end, with all its gloomy

mockeries and dreary vanities. The friends or professed

friends of the family had all departed except the Squire,

and Mr. and Mrs. Twigg, whose carriage was at the door :

the two latter were screwing up their faces to the proper

dolorous expression for a farewell when the Squire entered

the room. He had his hat on, and the little black terrier

was under his arm. He walked straight up to the Baronet,

and addressed him in an under tone.

" "

Don't want Nip ?

f{ Take him," answered Sir Mark.

They shook hands silently and slowly, during which

process Ned fixed his one eye intently on the altered face

of his old friend.

" Hold up," he said, and, with these two syllables, he

wheeled abruptly round and departed, without taking the

least notice of any one else in the room.

It was now the Twiggs' turn, and they had evidently

made up their minds to take a more elaborate leave than

poor Ned's. The master of the Hive walked gravely up to

Sir Mark, whilst the mistress applied herself to his sister.


My dear, dear Mrs. Hamilton," she "

said, you must

rouse. Don't take on, pray don't ; you .musn't sit and

mope there's nothing worse for the spirits. You must

employ your mind. I remember, when my own poor

mother died I couldn't find comfort in any thing till I took

to polishing a mahogany table."

" She is quite right," said Twigg, to the brother, in the

same serious affectionate tone. " My dear Sir Mark Tyrrel,

c c 2

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