said Riccabocca. "Meanwhile, light a candle in the parlour, and bring
from my bedroom that great folio of Machiavelli."




CHAPTER X.

In my next chapter I shall present Squire Hazeldean in patriarchal
state,--not exactly under the fig-tree he has planted, but before the
stocks he has reconstructed,--Squire Hazeldean and his family on the
village green! The canvas is all ready for the colours.

But in this chapter I must so far afford a glimpse into antecedents as to
let the reader know that there is one member of the family whom he is not
likely to meet at present, if ever, on the village green at Hazeldean.

Our squire lost his father two years after his birth; his mother was very
handsome--and so was her jointure; she married again at the expiration of
her year of mourning; the object of her second choice was Colonel
Egerton.

In every generation of Englishmen (at least since the lively reign of
Charles II.) there are a few whom some elegant Genius skims off from the
milk of human nature, and reserves for the cream of society. Colonel
Egerton was one of these /terque quaterque beati/, and dwelt apart on a
top shelf in that delicate porcelain dish--not bestowed upon vulgar
buttermilk--which persons of fashion call The Great World. Mighty was
the marvel of Pall Mall, and profound was the pity of Park Lane, when
this supereminent personage condescended to lower himself into a husband.