without pretence, wlietlier or no, is wonderful ; evincing an accomplish-
ment in the art of girl-driving, seldom reached by the oldest practitioners.
" Now, don't stare about you all the afternoon," cries Judy, shaking
her head and stamping her foot as she happens to catch the glance which
has been previously sounding the basin of tea, " but take your victuals
and get back to your work."
" Yes, miss," says Charley.
" Don't say yes," returns Miss Smallweed, " for I know what you
girls are. Do it without saying it, and then I may begin to believe you."
Charley swallows a great gulp of tea in token of submission, and so
disperses the Dniidical ruins that Miss Smallweed charges her not to
gormandize, which " in you girls," she observes, is disgusting. Charley
might find some more difficulty in meeting her views on the general
subject of girls, but for a knock at the door.
" See who it is, and don't chcAv when you open it ! " cries Judy.
The object of her attentions withdrawing for the purpose. Miss Small-
weed takes that opportunity of jumbling the remainder of the bread and
butter together, and launching two or three dirty tea-cups into the ebb-
tide of the basin of tea ; as a hint that she considers the eating and
drinking terminated.
"Now ! Who is it, and what's wanted ? " says the snappish Judy.
It is one " Mr. George," it appears. Without other announcement or
ceremony, Mr. George walks in.
" Whew ! " says Mr. George. *' You are hot here. Always a firc^
fh? Well! Perhaps you do right to get used to one." Mr. George
makes the latter remark to himself, as he nods to Grandfather Smallweed.
" Ho ! It's vou ! " cries the old gentleman. " How de do ? How
de do ? "
" Middling," replies"^ Mr. George, taking a chair. " Your gTand-
daughter I have had the honor of seeing before ; my service to you, miss."
" This is my grandson," says Grandfather Smallweed. " You ha'n't
seen him before. He is in the law, and not much at home."
" My service to him, too ! He is like his sister. He is veiy like
liis sister. He is devilish like his sister," says Mr. George, laying a
great and not altogether complimentary stress on his last adjective.
" And how does the world use you, Mr. George ? " Grandfather
Smallweed enquires, slowly rubbing his legs.
" Pretty much as usual. Like a football."
He is a swarthy browned man of fifty; well made, and good-
looking ; with crisp dark hair, bright eyes, and a broad chest. His
sinewy and powerful hands, as sunburnt as his face, have evidently been
used to a pretty rough life. What is curious about him is, that he sits
forward on his chair as if he were, from long habit, alloAving space for
some dress or accoutrements that he has altogether laid aside. His step
too is measured and heavy, and would go well with a Aveighty clash and
jingle of spurs. He is close-shaved now, but his mouth is set as if his
upper lip had been for years familiar with a great moustache ; and his
manner of occasionally laying the open palm of his broad brown hand
upon it, is to the same eliect. Altogether, one might guess Mr. George
to have been a trooper once upon a time.
A special contrast Mr. George makes to the Smallweed family.
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