I shall say nothing of my poor wife’s hysterics, when I told her how matters stood with Lydia. She was terribly bad indeed! But, thank God, these fits are not dangerous, as the doctors say; and experience seems to justify them in their opinion; for, I know one of my wife’s old friends, who has been subject to them twenty years. No sooner had my poor Lydia got the better of hers on this trying occasion, than she lamented her hard case, saying, with many tears and much anger, that she should never be able to shew her face again amongst fashionable people; and that no one but myself would ever have thought of sinking their family by such a _dunghill_ connexion. I lost my temper, Sir Murdoch, for it frets a man to be always doing for the best, and who is said never to do right. And I very roundly told her, that all the plagues of my life were owing to fashionable people, as she called gamblers and pickpockets; and if, added I, that were all the mischief, I should be tempted to thank William Willet for his good services. You have now, continued I, been a month under a roof which the honest would shun; whilst under _your own_, Mrs. Serge, the prop and stay of my life, is sinking to the grave. You might have learned a lesson of more value than what your fashionable people at Reveland Park have been teaching you. She looked confounded, and wept in silence. No man loves peace more than I do; my heart relented; and I only added, that she knew this was my temper; that, whatever I _thought_, or rather _felt_ to be right, that I would _do_; and that the following morning Lydia would be Mrs. Willet. I kept my word, Sir Murdoch, and last Thursday by means of a licence, I saw the young couple united. I do not know how it was, but they quite softened me by their tears and thanks. Mrs. Tomkins was so good as to accompany them to her mother’s; they set out as soon as the ceremony was over, and I returned to Putney to dinner, contented and relieved in my mind. On entering the parlour I found my _fashionable_ son-in-law there; he was reading the newspaper, and I asked him, by way of saying something, “what news?” “None,” replied he, “of importance; but I understand, Sir, we may expect a curious article to-morrow.” He smiled, and, as I thought, insolently; adding, “Miss Lydia Serge, second daughter to Jeremiah Serge, Esq. married to William Willet, late butler and gardener at Putney in her father’s house, will make a curious paragraph!” “Very likely,” answered I gravely; “and the article may farther say, that the marriage ceremony was performed in _St. Martin’s Church_, by the minister of the parish, and in the presence of the bride’s father. I shall contentedly leave to the public their opinions; some may be found who will perceive nothing wonderful in a marriage between _Serge the taylor’s daughter_, and Willet _the farmer’s son_.” “You are to judge for yourself, Sir,” replied he, “but I conceive few