Holmes would now lay aside the sinful indulgence of her pipe, which had been her daily solace for upwards of thirty years: that George Higgins would be frightened out of his Sabbath evening walks, and Thomas Jackson would be sorely troubled in his conscience, and shaken in his sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection at the last day. Thus, I could not but conclude that Mr. Hatfield was one of those who “bind heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, and lay them upon men’s shoulders, while they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers”; and who “make the word of God of none effect by their traditions, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.” I was well pleased to observe that the new curate resembled him, as far as I could see, in none of these particulars. “Well, Miss Grey, what do you think of him now?” said Miss Murray, as we took our places in the carriage after service. “No harm still,” replied I. “No harm!” repeated she in amazement. “What do you mean?” “I mean, I think no worse of him than I did before.” “No worse! I should think not indeed—quite the contrary! Is he not greatly improved?” “Oh, yes; very much indeed,” replied I; for I had now discovered that it was Harry Meltham she meant, not Mr. Weston. That gentleman had eagerly come forward to speak to the young ladies: a thing he would hardly have ventured to do had their mother been present; he had likewise politely handed them into the carriage. He had not attempted to shut me out, like Mr. Hatfield; neither, of course, had he offered me his assistance (I should not have accepted it, if he had), but as long as the door remained open he had stood smirking and chatting with them, and then lifted his hat and departed to his own abode: but I had scarcely noticed him all the time. My companions, however, had been more observant; and, as we rolled along, they discussed between them not only his looks, words, and actions, but every feature of his face, and every article of his apparel. “You shan’t have him all to yourself, Rosalie,” said Miss Matilda at the close of this discussion; “I like him: I know he’d make a nice, jolly companion for me.” “Well, you’re quite welcome to him, Matilda,” replied her sister, in a tone of affected indifference. “And I’m sure,” continued the other, “he admires me quite as much as he does you; doesn’t he, Miss Grey?” “I don’t know; I’m not acquainted with his sentiments.” “Well, but he _does_ though.” “My _dear_ Matilda! nobody will ever admire you till you get rid of your rough, awkward manners.” “Oh, stuff! Harry Meltham likes such manners; and so do papa’s friends.” “Well, you _may_ captivate old men, and younger sons; but nobody else, I am sure, will ever take a fancy to you.” “I don’t care: I’m not always grabbing after money, like you and mamma. If my husband is able to keep a few good horses and dogs, I shall be quite satisfied; and all the rest may go to the devil!”