It will, be assured, repeated Wilson. I have a letter from him by your messenger full of sighs and groans: I don’t much heed them; for it is his humour to deal in the dolefuls, and set himself off in the worst light he can possibly devise: for instance, he tells me here, that his temper, which was always execrable, is now worse than ever; and that he is grown so touchy, that even the parson won’t trust himself to a hit at backgammon with him. This is about as true as the account he gives of his house-keeping, which I know is liberal to excess, but which he represents as rascally in the extreme; pretending to say, that through mere covetousness he has made a potatoe garden of his pleasure ground, turned his coach-horses into the straw yard, and lowered the quality of his Welch ale, till his servants are in mutiny, and his parishioners consulting about hanging him in effigy. Is all this true? De Lancaster asked. Not any of it, Wilson replied. His poor neighbours are more disposed to worship him in effigy, than to hang him. He may have planted his grounds with potatoes, and turned his idle horses out to fodder, for I dare say this hard winter has made havoc of his stores, as he tells me that he is screwing up his farmers in revenge for their want of mercy to their necessitous neighbours; but as for his covetousness, I give no credit to that; on the contrary I happen to know that he has just now paid down the purchase money of a company for a young officer in the line, in no degree related to him, or indeed connected with him. Is Jones the name of that young officer? It is. Gallant, glorious old man! How I reverence him for the action! How I honour him for his benignity! I would go to do him service, or to give him pleasure, though I were to walk thither on foot. I perceive you know something of this Jones. If you do perceive it, you will not need to be informed of it by me: and now as I also perceive you are in the secret of my visit, I hope you will consent to accompany me to-morrow, and then Cecilia’s mind will be at rest. To put her mind at rest, said Wilson, where would I not go? How willingly then shall I accompany you upon a friendly errand to a worthy man like Morgan! Agreed! cried De Lancaster, and now I am in good humour with myself for thinking and resolving on this visit. Let me profit by your good humour then, rejoined the colonel with a smile, and let me hear the remainder of your genealogy; for we have turned our backs upon the Trojan war, and are drawing near to modern history, when, according to your doctrine, truth becomes darkened, and we get into the regions of deception; which I shall not be sorry for, as I confess there is ever more amusement for me in a harmless pleasant fiction, than in a dry uninteresting matter of fact. What answer De Lancaster gave to this appeal will be found in the following chapter. CHAPTER VIII.