are a very gallant young man, Nephew Harry, very gallant—­I wish I could say as much for every one” (added she, throwing a spiteful look towards a distant corner, where Mr Jenkison was sitting with great nonchalance, and at the moment dipping a rusk in a cup of chocolate); “but I lament to perceive that you were at least as pleased with your lakes of milk-punch, and your bottles of Champagne and Burgundy, as with any of your delightful partners.  Now, though I can readily excuse this degree of incombustibility in the descendant of a family so remarkable in all ages for personal beauty as ours, yet I lament it exceedingly, when I consider that, in conjunction with your present predilection for the easy life of a bachelor, it may possibly prove the means of causing our ancient genealogical tree, which has its roots, if I may so speak, in the foundations of the world, to terminate suddenly in a point:  unless you feel yourself moved by my exhortations to follow the example of all your ancestors, by choosing yourself a fitting and suitable helpmate to immortalize the pedigree of Headlong Ap-Rhaiader.”

“Egad!” said Squire Headlong, “that is very true, I’ll marry directly.  A good opportunity to fix on some one, now they are all here; and I’ll pop the question without further ceremony.”

“What think you,” said the old lady, “of Miss Nanny Glen-Du, the lineal descendant of Llewelyn Ap-Yorwerth?”

“She won’t do,” said Squire Headlong.

“What say you, then,” said the lady, “to Miss Williams, of Pontyglasrhydyrallt, the descendant of the ancient family of——?”

“I don’t like her,” said Squire Headlong; “and as to her ancient family, that is a matter of no consequence.  I have antiquity enough for two.  They are all moderns, people of yesterday, in comparison with us.  What signify six or seven centuries, which are the most they can make up?”

“Why, to be sure,” said the aunt, “on that view of the question, it is no consequence.  What think you, then, of Miss Owen, of Nidd-y-Gygfraen?  She will have six thousand a year.”

“I would not have her,” said Squire Headlong, “if she had fifty.  I’ll think of somebody presently.  I should like to be married on the same day with Caprioletta.”

“Caprioletta!” said Miss Brindle-mew; “without my being consulted.”

“Consulted!” said the squire:  “I was commissioned to tell you, but somehow or other I let it slip.  However, she is going to be married to my friend Mr Foster, the philosopher.”

“Oh!” said the maiden aunt, “that a daughter of our ancient family should marry a philosopher!  It is enough to make the bones of all the Ap-Rhaiaders turn in their graves!”

“I happen to be more enlightened,” said Squire Headlong, “than any of my ancestors were.  Besides, it is Caprioletta’s affair, not mine.  I tell you, the matter is settled, fixed, determined; and so am I, to be married on the same day.  I don’t know, now I think of it, whom I can choose better than one of the daughters of my friend Chromatic.”