“And I say it's all wrong; and I say more,” I broke in: “I say that of all the tyrannies of Europe, I know of none like that newspaper. Why, sir, whose station, I would ask, nowadays, can exempt him from its impertinent criticisms? Can Keldrum say--can I say--that to-morrow or next day we shall not be arraigned for this, that, or t'other? I choose, for instance, to manage my estate,--the property that has been in my family for centuries,--the acres that have descended to us by grants as old as Magna Charta. I desire, for reasons that seem sufficient to myself, to convert arable into grass land. I say to one of my tenant farmers--it's Hedgeworth--no matter, I shall not mention names, but I say to him--” “I know the man,” broke in the priest; “you mean Hedgeworth Davis, of Mount Davis.” “No, sir, I do not,” said I, angrily, for I resented this attempt to run me to earth. “Hedgeworth! Hedgeworth! It ain't that fellow that was in the Rifles; the 2d battalion, is it?” said Ozley. “I repeat,” said I, “that I will mention no names.” “My mother had some relatives Hedgeworths, they were from Herefordshire. How odd, Potts, if we should turn out to be connections! You said that these people were related to you.” “I hope,” I said angrily, “that I am not bound to give the birth, parentage, and education of every man whose name I may mention in conversation. At least, I would protest that I have not prepared myself for such a demand upon my memory.” “Of course not, Potts. It would be a test no man could submit to,” said his Lordship. “That Hedgeworth, who was in the Rifles, exceeded all the fellows I ever met in drawing the long bow. There was no country he had not been in, no army he had not served with; he was related to every celebrated man in Europe; and, after all, it turned out that his father was an attorney at Market Harborough, and sub-agent to one of our fellows who had some property there.” This was said by Hammond, who directed the speech entirely to me. “Confound the Hedgeworths, all together,” Ozley broke in. “They have carried us miles away from what we were talking of.” This was a sentiment that met my heartiest concurrence, and I nodded in friendly recognition to the speaker, and drank off my glass to his health. “Who can give us a song? I 'll back his reverence here to be a vocalist,” cried Hammond. And sure enough, Dyke sang one of the national melodies with great feeling and taste. Ozley followed with something in less perfect taste, and we all grew very jolly. Then there came a broiled bone and some devilled kidneys, and a warm brew which Hammond himself concocted,--a most insidious liquor, which had a strong odor of lemons, and was compounded, at the same time, of little else than rum and sugar.