"I've kept old ways, and loved old friends, Till, one by one, they've slipped away; Stand where we will, cling as we like, There's none but God can be our stay. 'Tis only by our hold on Him We keep a hold on those who pass Out of our sight across the seas, Or underneath the churchyard grass." ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO. Carlisle, April the 5th, 1744 or 5. I really feel that I must put a date to my writing now, when this is the first time of my going out into the great world. I have never been beyond Carlisle before, and now I am going, first into a new country, and then to London itself, if all go well. News came last night, just before we started, that my Lord Orford is dead--he that was Sir Robert Walpole, and the Elector's Prime Minister. Father says his death is a good thing for the country, for it gives more hope that the King may come by his own. I don't know what would happen if he did. I suppose it would not make much difference to us. Indeed, I rather wish things would not happen, for the things that happen are so often disagreeable ones. I said so this evening, and Mr Keith smiled, and answered, "You are young to have reached that conviction, Miss Caroline." "Oh, rubbish!" said Angus. "Only old women talk so!" "Angus, will you please tell me," said I, "whether young men have generally more sense than old women?" "Of course they have!" replied he. "The young men are apt to think so," added Flora. "But have young women more sense than old ones?" said I. "Because I see, whenever people mean to speak of anything as particularly silly, they always say it is worthy of an old woman. Now why an old woman? Have I more commonsense now than I shall have fifty years hence? And if so, at what age may I expect it to take leave of me?" "You are not talking sense now, at any rate," replied Angus--who might be my brother, instead of my cousin, for the way in which he takes me up, whatever I say. "Pardon me," said Mr Keith. "I think Miss Caroline is talking very good sense." "Then you may answer her," said Angus. "Nay," returned Mr Keith. "The question was addressed to you." "Oh, all women are sillies!" was Angus's flattering answer. "They're just a pack of ninnies, the whole lot of them." "It seems to me, Angus," observed Mr Keith, quite gravely, "that you must have paid twopence extra for manners." Flora and I laughed. "I was not rich enough to go in for any," growled Angus. "I'm not a laird's son, Mr Duncan Keith, so you don't need to throw stones at me." "Did I, Angus? I beg your pardon." Angus muttered something which I did not hear, and was silent. I thought I had better let the subject drop. But before we went to bed, something happened which I never saw before. Mr Keith took a book from his pocket, and sat down at the table. Flora rose and went to the sofa, motioning to me to come beside her. Even Angus twisted himself round, and sat in a more decorous way.