“Wright has the greatest share,” cried Marvel; “for without his prudence I should have been ruined.” “Marvel has the greatest share,” cried Wright: “for without his ingenuity I should never have succeeded in the business, nor indeed should I have undertaken it.” “Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy between you,” said Mr. Constantine, “and I give you joy of your happy partnership. What can be more advantageous than a partnership between prudence and justice on the one side, and generosity and abilities on the other?” _June, 1800_. THE LIMERICK GLOVES. CHAPTER I. It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn; the bells of Hereford cathedral rang, and all the world smartly dressed were flocking to church. “Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill!--Phoebe! Phoebe! There’s the cathedral bell, I say, and neither of you ready for church, and I a verger;” cried Mr. Hill, the tanner, as he stood at the bottom of his own staircase. “I’m ready, papa,” replied Phoebe; and down she came, looking so clean, so fresh, and so gay, that her stern father’s brows unbent, and he could only say to her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, “Child, you ought to have had those gloves on before this time of day.” “Before this time of day!” cried Mrs. Hill, who was now coming down stairs completely equipped, “before this time of day! she should know better, I say, than to put on those gloves at all: more especially when going to the cathedral.” “The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see,” replied Mr. Hill. “But no matter now. It is more fitting that we should be in proper time in our pew, to set an example, as becomes us, than to stand here talking of gloves and nonsense.” He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out for the cathedral; but Phoebe was too busy in drawing on her new gloves, and her mother was too angry at the sight of them, to accept of Mr. Hill’s courtesy: “What I say is always nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill,” resumed the matron: “but I can see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was it not I that first gave you a hint of what became of the great dog, that we lost out of our tan-yard last winter? And was it not I who first took notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the hole under the foundation of the cathedral? Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill?” “But, my dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with Phoebe’s gloves?” “Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don’t you see that they are Limerick gloves?” “What of that?” said Mr. Hill; still preserving his composure, as it was his custom to do as long as he could, when he saw his wife was ruffled. “What of that, Mr. Hill! why don’t you know that Limerick is in Ireland, Mr. Hill?” “With all my heart, my dear.” “Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr. Hill, you would see our cathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and your own daughter married to the person that did it; and you a verger, Mr. Hill.”