“The whole chancel is attached to the claims of Wilson, as the proprietor of the abbey lands. It was merely owing to accident he was not my patron for the living instead of yourself, for his uncle would have purchased it of your father; and Wilson might, if he pleased, place his servants in your pew; for, in fact, you enjoy it by favour. But why do you not speak to your brother the captain? He certainly ought to sit with you on _every account_. He should not brave public opinion at church. It is, to say no more, indecorous to see him pass you with those _ladies_, and make the whole congregation stare, as they do, at his gallantry.”—“He would be disappointed of his aim if they did not,” answered Miss Flint, with anger; “it is to brave me, that he so far forgets decency——.” “You judge too severely of your brother,” observed the rector, in an assumed conciliatory tone; “it may be, and probably is, that the lady exacts this homage to her power. The poor captain is not the only one of his class who finds passive obedience and non-resistance an important duty, _without_ the pale of the church as well as _within_ it.”—“Who is now severe?” cried the facetious Miss Lucretia, tapping Mr. Snughead’s shoulder; “but you married men do right to fancy your shackles no worse than those of your more fortunate brethren. In the mean time tell me what is your opinion of Mrs. Heartley’s _discretion_, in availing herself of such an introducer as Sir Murdock for getting acquainted with Miss Cowley? Pray may I ask,” continued she, addressing me, “how often you have met this _fashionable_ and _easy_ lady?” “Once or twice in my walks,” replied I, desirous of continuing the conversation, “and I must confess that she pleased me by her manners; she is a well bred woman, has a cultivated understanding, and is entertaining.”—“Your opinion does justice to your candour, _young lady_,” observed the coxcomb near me. “She has, I am told, a good address, and can be very pleasant. I am not surprised that you were pleased with her; youth ought not to be suspicious.”—“It appears fortunately for my sagacity,” replied I, laughing, “that Mrs. Heartley imposes on all ages. This will keep me in countenance, should the conclusions I have drawn from her appearance be erroneous. I took notice that all the females on the benches rose and curtseyed to her as she passed through the aisle at church.” “So they would to Wilson’s dung cart,” answered he, laughing and shewing his large white teeth, “for the same return. They have _Madam_ Wilson’s skimmed milk in their mouths, and her Christmas plumb-pudding in perspective; and for these they would bend their knees and their necks ten times a day, although they are so insolent to their betters.”—“You forget,” observed Miss Flint, “that they owe some civility to the _village doctress_.”—“True,” answered he, “I forgot their obligations to Mrs. Heartley’s James’s powder and her worm-cakes, but I owe her no gratitude on that score; for if she go on,