PARSON, still philologically occupied.--"Gumptious--gumptious. I think I remember the substantive at school--not that my master taught it to me. 'Gumption,' it means cleverness." LANDLORD, (doggedly.)--"There's gumption and gumptious! Gumption is knowing; but when I say that sum un is gumptious, I mean--though that's more vulgar like--sum un who does not think small beer of hisself. You take me, sir?" "I think I do," said the Parson, half-smiling. "I believe the Avenels have only two of their children alive still--their daughter, who married Mark Fairfield, and a son who went off to America?" "Ah, but he made his fortune there, and has come back." "Indeed! I'm very glad to hear it. He has settled at Lansmere?" "No, sir. I hear as he's bought a property a long way off. But he comes to see his parents pretty often--so John tells me--but I can't say that I ever see him. I fancy Dick doesn't like to be seen by folks who remember him playing in the kennel." "Not unnatural," said the Parson indulgently; "but he visits his parents: he is a good son, at all events, then?" "I've nothing to say against him. Dick was a wild chap before he took himself off. I never thought he would make his fortune; but the Avenels are a clever set. Do you remember poor Nora--the Rose of Lansmere, as they called her? Ah, no, I think she went up to Lunnun afore your time, sir." "Humph!" said the Parson drily. "Well, I think you may take away now. It will be dark soon, and I'll just stroll out and look about me." "There's a nice tart coming, sir." "Thank you, I've dined." The Parson put on his hat and sallied forth into the streets. He eyed the houses on either hand with that melancholy and wistful interest with which, in middle life, we revisit scenes familiar to us in youth--surprised to find either so little change or so much, and recalling, by fits and snatches, old associations and past emotions. The long High Street which he threaded now began to change its bustling character, and slide, as it were gradually, into the high road of a suburb. On the left, the houses gave way to the moss-grown pales of Lansmere Park: to the right, though houses still remained, they were separated from each other by gardens, and took the pleasing appearance of villas--such villas as retired tradesmen or their widows, old maids, and half-pay officers, select for the evening of their days.