"I would rather be the poorest lay sister in a convent—I would rather teach a village school all my days, than to be Lady Throckmorton!" returned Amabel, with more vehemence than was at all common with her. "I think such people as she are the greatest fools in the world. They are like the little silly sparrows Lucy and I saw yesterday, building in the house that was at that moment being torn down. She has her portion in this world, and thinks no more of the other, than as though there was no such thing. Suppose she is killed by an accident, like that poor lady who was thrown from her horse the other day—whose then shall those things be, in which she delights, or what of them all will she carry with her?" "Oh, my dear!" said Mrs. Cropsey, taken rather aback. "Of course it is right to think of death, and judgment and such solemn matters at proper times, as in Lent and Advent and before the sacrament. But one cannot always be dwelling on them; one owes a duty to the world; as you will find out when you come to go into society." "Where in the Scriptures is one's duty to the world set forth, Mrs. Cropsey?" asked Amabel, in a tone of simplicity. "I do not remember seeing the place in my reading." "Oh, my dear, you have taken up such a set of notions from Mr. Cheriton! I am sure it was a bad day for him, when he fell under Mr. Wesley's influence, poor man. Just look at the difference it has made in his church, that used to be so fashionable. Why, he has actually put John Winne out from the organ gallery, because he says it is not fit that a blasphemer and an infidel should lead the people in praising God; the very best voice he had. But talking of Lady Throckmorton, her gaiety is like to come to an end for the present. Have you not heard? Poor Sir John who has been in a declining way so long, has had two strokes. And they say this morning, he can hardly live the day out. So sad for his poor mother; and he has no son either, so all the entailed property will go to Lord Bulmer, who has enough already, one would think. However, they say her ladyship will be left very rich as it is." We heard the next day that Sir John was dead. He had a grand funeral, being carried all the way to his own mausoleum, at his ancestral home up in the hills. All the black crape and cloth in Newcastle were in requisition to do him honor, and the hearse was one great pile of nodding plumes, while the four grand black horses which drew it stepped off haughtily as if proud, poor things, of their burden of senseless clay. We heard afterwards through Mrs. Bunnell, that the poor gentleman had earnestly desired to see Mr. Cheriton, but his wife would not permit it; saying that the canting Methodist who had slighted her invitations, should never darken her doors. However, Mrs. Bunnell, who nursed him during his last illness, was able to lead him in the right way, and he died at last in hope and peace.