character of the stranger to whom he had so recklessly given her.
The pity of the county fell to the share of the poor beautiful girl,
whose welfare and happiness were absolutely ruined; and the parson
was pulled to pieces for his sordid parsimony in having endeavoured
to rid himself in so disgraceful a manner of the charge of one of
his children.

It would be beyond the scope of my story to tell here of the anxious
family councils which were held in that parsonage parlour, during
the time of that daughter's courtship. There had been misgivings as
to the stability of the wooer; there had been an anxious wish not to
lose for the penniless daughter the advantage of a wealthy match;
the poor girl herself had been much cross-questioned as to her own
feelings. But let them have been right, or let them have been wrong
at that parsonage, the matter was settled, very speedily as we have
seen; and Mary Wainwright became Mrs Talbot when she was still
almost a child.

And then Mr. Talbot bolted; and it became known to the Dorsetshire
world that he had not paid a shilling for rent, or for butcher's
meat for his human family, or for oats for his equine family, during
the whole period of his sojourn at Chevychase Lodge. Grand
references had been made to a London banker, which had been answered
by assurances that Mr. Talbot was as good as the Bank of England.
But it turned out that the assurances were forged, and that the
letter of inquiry addressed to the London banker had been
intercepted. In short, it was all ruin, roguery, and wretchedness.

And very wretched they all were, the old father, the young bride,
and all that parsonage household. After much inquiry something at