Lawyer Davis (universally so called) was an active honourable little fellow in great request, and would ride further for a few shillings in the prosecution of his business, than some physicians will for as many pounds. He was a light weight, was always well-mounted, and travelled by the compass with extraordinary expedition. In the early morning of the day, immediately following the festival at Kray Castle, he called upon our hero John with an invitation from his grandfather at Glen-Morgan to come over to him upon particular business, and Davis did not disguise from him that it was for the purpose of communicating to him the disposal of his effects by will. To a summons so important there was neither prohibition nor delay. John however in a short interview with his mother suggested to her the opportunity, that now offered for presenting to Amelia the miniature of her father, with which he was entrusted. Mrs. De Lancaster had no objection to his making an excursion to Denbigh, and allowed him to use her name for his introduction to Miss Jones, but the proposal of writing to Mrs. Jennings had been laid aside. Lawyer Davis was to go with him, and John under such a swift-sailing convoy soon found himself safe moored by the side of his grandfather. John, said the good old man, I have been putting down a few items in the only work of mine, that will ever descend to posterity, and as you have a concern in the purport of it, I think it is but right you should know what it is. In this paper, which is my last will and testament, and which friend Davis has translated out of English into law, I have bequeathed my estates real and personal to your mother independantly of her husband for her life, and after her decease to you and your heirs, executors and assigns, for ever. So God bless you with it! I for one shan’t hold it from you long. However take notice, I have not forgotten certain friends and dependants, who will have claims upon you; and as I have not been notoriously uncharitable in my life, I have not quite overlooked that duty at my death. I shall not turn out rich in money, for the labouring poor have been so confoundedly pinched, that they would not let me gratify the rascally passion, which I naturally had to be a miser. There is Dame Jennings will come upon you for an annuity, and that little witch Amelia Jones is down in black and white for another. I could not help it. They were both too good, and one of them too pretty, too innocent, and too helpless to be left to the wide world; I could not go out of it in peace, and leave them to starve in poverty: you must think, John, that would not do; would it? No, no; I was forced to take care of them for the sake of an easy conscience, or in other words (do you see) for my own sake; else I should not have done it for the mere pleasure of giving away; for I have no pleasure in it. As a proof of that, look you, here is a hundred guineas in a canvas purse; I