"My father was happy as a husband, and, did I imitate his example, I should certainly marry, too. Nevertheless, I feel I am to be a bachelor." "In that case, what will become of Clawbonny?" demanded Jack Wallingford, bluntly. I could not avoid smiling at the question, as I deemed him my heir, though the law would give it to nearer relatives, who were not of the name; but it is probable that John, knowing himself to be so much my senior, had never thought of himself as one likely to outlive me. "I shall make a new will, the instant I get to town, and leave Clawbonny to you," I answered steadily, and truly, for such a thought had come into my mind the instant I saw him. "You are the person best entitled to inherit it, and should you survive me, yours it shall be." "Miles, I like that," exclaimed my cousin, with a strange sincerity, stretching out a hand to receive mine, which he pressed most warmly. "You are very right; I _ought_ to be the heir of this place, should you die without children, even though you left a widow," This was said so naturally, and was so much in conformity with my own notions on the subject, that it did not so much offend, as surprise me. I knew John Wallingford loved money, and, all men having a very respectful attachment to the representative of value, such a character invariably means, that the party named suffers that attachment to carry him too far. I wished, therefore, my kinsman had not made just such a speech; though it in no manner shook my intentions in his favour. "You are more ready to advise your friends to get married, than to set the example," I answered, willing to divert the discourse a little. "You, who must be turned of fifty, are still a bachelor." "And so shall I remain through life. There was a time I might have married, had I been rich; and now I am reasonably rich, I find other things to employ my affections. Still, that is no reason you should not leave me Clawbonny, though it is not probable I shall ever live to inherit it. Notwithstanding, it is family property, and ought not to go out of the name. I was afraid, if you were, lost at sea, or should die of any of those outlandish fevers that sailors sometimes take, the place would get into females, and there would no longer be a Wallingford at Clawbonny. Miles, I do not grudge _you_ the possession of the property the least in the world; but it would make me very unhappy to know one of those Hazens, or Morgans, or Van-der-Schamps had it." Jack had mentioned the names of the children of so many Miss Wallingfords, aunts or great-aunts, of mine, and cousins of his own.--"Some of them may be nearer to you, by a half-degree, or so, but none of them are as near to Clawbonny. It is Wallingford land, and Wallingford land it ought to remain." I was amused in spite of myself, and felt a disposition now, to push the discourse further, in order better to understand my kinsman's character.