Old Sir Richard, Charley, and Dr. Stevens gazed upon the tiny face of the babe, who, with its little fists tightly closed, half-opened its eyes and began to cry right lustily. Dame Worthington gave old Sir Richard a peculiar look, and that respectable old gentleman smiled, shook Charley by the hand, took a pinch of snuff, and turned aside. Dr. Stevens pronounced it “an extraordinary infant,” and said it must have weighed ten pounds. While Charley, overjoyed to hear of Clara’s safety, took his first-born from the good old lady’s arms, kissed it, and, going into the front room, placed it beside its mother. Poor Clara, weak, faint, pale, and suffering, languidly opened her eyes, faintly smiled, and sighed. Charley kissed her, of course, very fondly, and would have remained by her side, but the merry, laughing old dame, and the august, solemn-spoken mother-in-law bade her daughter dry up her tears, and remember she was “one of the Haylarks,” and quickly hustled poor Charley out of the room. Full of excitement, he knew not what to do. For the first time in his life, he determined to pay court to Bacchus, and old Sir Richard, apparently appearing nothing loth, they both sat down to a substantial meal, and beguiled the rest of the evening by paying exclusive attention to a box of havannahs and some excellent cognac. In his merriment and good humour, he kissed everybody; even his mother-in-law, whom he discovered coming up stairs with medicines and gruel; but that majestic lady, in her cap well stocked with flaming ribbons, frowned, and said he ought to be ashamed of himself, and should have more “dignity,” a quality he would have doubtless possessed in superabundance, only he was unfortunately not one of “the Haylarks.” Mr. Warbeck had no sooner become a father, than he began to look and act like a much different man. He was gay and lively as ever, it is true, and, if anything, far more so; but he began to assume the air and bearing of one upon whose shoulders rested serious “responsibilities.” He went to the office every morning with cheerfulness and alacrity; and there his chief thought during the day was for the approach of evening, when he might hurry homewards, to enjoy the quiet delights of his own fireside, in the company of his wife and child. Clara, it must be confessed, soon recovered from her illness, and moved about the house with great grace and amiability, looking more comely and captivating than ever. With “baby” in her arms, she would walk up and down the parlour singing all manner of pretty ditties to solace the child to sleep, and, it had scarcely closed its little eyes, ere she would commence to kiss and hug it, and to talk to it in baby prattle, and wake it again, and then begin to scold some imaginary being for having disturbed its slumbers.