"The farm will interest you more," said Lady Ellinor. We came to farm buildings recently erected, and no doubt on the most improved principle. Lady Ellinor pointed out to me machines and contrivances, of the newest fashion, for abridging labour, and perfecting the mechanical operations of agriculture. "Ah, then, Mr Trevanion is fond of farming." The pretty Fanny laughed again. "My father is one of the great oracles in agriculture, one of the great patrons of all its improvements; but, as for being fond of farming, I doubt if he knows when he rides through his own fields." We returned to the house; and Miss Trevanion, whose frank kindness had already made too deep an impression upon the youthful heart of Pisistratus the Second, offered to show me the picture-gallery. The collection was confined to the works of English artists; and Miss Trevanion pointed out to me the main attractions of the gallery. "Well, at least Mr Trevanion is fond of pictures!" "Wrong again," said Fanny, shaking her arch head. "My father is said to be an admirable judge; but he only buys pictures from a sense of duty--to encourage our own painters--a picture once bought, I am not sure that he ever looks at it again!" "What does he then--" I stopped short, for I felt my meditated question was ill-bred. "What does he like then? you were about to say. Why, I have known him, of course, since I could know any thing; but I have never yet discovered what my father does like. No--not even politics, though he lives for politics alone. You look puzzled; you will know him better some day, I hope; but you will never solve the mystery--what Mr Trevanion likes." "You are wrong," said Lady Ellinor, who had followed us into the room, unheard by us. "I can tell you what your father does more than like--what he loves and serves and illustrates every hour of his noble life--justice, beneficence, honour, and his country. A man who loves these may be excused for indifference to the last geranium or the newest plough, or even (though that offends you more, Fanny) the freshest masterpiece by Landseer, or the latest fashion honoured by Miss Trevanion." "Mamma!" said Fanny, and the tears sprang to her eyes. But Lady Ellinor looked to me sublime as she spoke, her eyes kindled, her breast heaved. The wife taking the husband's part against the child, and comprehending so well what the child felt not, despite its experience of every day, and what the world would never know, despite all the vigilance of its praise and its blame, was a picture, to my taste, finer than any in the collection. Her face softened as she saw the tears in Fanny's bright hazel eyes: she held out her hand, which her child kissed tenderly, and whispering, "'Tis not the giddy word you must go by, mamma, or there will be something to forgive every minute,"--glided from the room. "Have you a sister?" asked Lady Ellinor. "No."