"THAT'S not the way, Captain," shouted out Thomas, still holding on
to the rein as the horse began to move. "Thee woan't goo with him,
will thee, Catty?"

But Mrs. Catherine, though she turned away her head, never let go
her hold round the Captain's waist; and he, swearing a dreadful oath
at Thomas, struck him across the face and hands with his riding
whip. The poor fellow, who at the first cut still held on to the
rein, dropped it at the second, and as the pair galloped off, sat
down on the roadside and fairly began to weep.

"MARCH, you dog!" shouted out the Corporal a minute after. And so
he did: and when next he saw Mrs. Catherine she WAS the Captain's
lady sure enough, and wore a grey hat, with a blue feather, and red
riding-coat trimmed with silverlace. But Thomas was then on a
bare-backed horse, which Corporal Brock was flanking round a ring,
and he was so occupied looking between his horse's ears that he had
no time to cry then, and at length got the better of his attachment.

* * *

This being a good opportunity for closing Chapter I, we ought,
perhaps, to make some apologies to the public for introducing them
to characters that are so utterly worthless; as we confess all our
heroes, with the exception of Mr. Bullock, to be. In this we have
consulted nature and history, rather than the prevailing taste and
the general manner of authors. The amusing novel of "Ernest
Maltravers," for instance, opens with a seduction; but then it is
performed by people of the strictest virtue on both sides: and
there is so much religion and philosophy in the heart of the