“I say, Deilmacare,” shouted Sir Robert, “we must hang him high and dry.”

“Very well,” replied his lordship, “with all my heart, Sir Robert; we must hang you high and dry.”

“But, Deilmacare,” said the squire, “we should only transport him.”

“Very good,” exclaimed his lordship, emptying a bumper; “we shall only transport you, Sir Robert.”

“Hang him, Deilmacare!”

“Very well, hang him!”

“Transport him, I say, Deilmacare,” from the squire.

“Good again,” said his lordship; “transport him, say I.”

And on went the drunken revel, until they scarcely knew what they said.

The clergyman and Mr. Hastings, on reaching the drawing-room, found Helen in a state of inexpressible distress.  A dispute upon the prevailing morals of all modern young Lidies had been got up by Lady Joram and Mrs. Oxley, for the express purpose of venting their petty malice against the girl, because they had taken it into their heads that she paid more attention to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings than she did to them.  This dispute was tantamount to what, in the prize ring, is called cross, when the fight is only a mock one, and terminates by the voluntary defeat of one of the parties, upon a preconcerted arrangement.

“I don’t agree with you, my lady; nor can I think that the morals of young ladies in ’igh life, by witch I mean the daughters and heiresses of wealthy squires—­”

“But, my dear Mrs. Oxley,” said her ladyship, interrupting her, and placing her hand gently upon her arm, as if to solicit her consent to the observation she was about to make, “you know, my dear Mrs. Oxley, that the daughter of a mere country squire can have no pretensions to come under the definition of high life.”

“Wy not?” replied Mrs. Oxley; “the squires are often wealthier than the haris-tocracy; and I don’t at all see,” she added, “wy the daughter of such a man should not be considered as moving in ’igh life—­always, of course, provided that she forms no disgraceful attachments to Papists and rebels and low persons of that ’ere class.  No, my lady, I don’t at all agree with you in your view of ’igh life.”

“You don’t appear, madam, to entertain a sufficiently accurate estimate of high life.

“I beg pardon, ma’am, but I think I can understand ’igh life as well as those that don’t know it better nor myself.  I’ve seen a great deal of ’igh life.  Feyther ’ad a willar at I’gate, and I’gate is known to be the ’igh-est place about the metropolis of Lunnon—­it and St. Paul’s are upon a bevel.”

“Level, perhaps, you mean, ma’am?”

“Level or bevel,’it doesn’t much diversify—­but I prefer the bevel to the level on all occasions.  All I knows is,” she proceeded, “that it is a shame for any young lady, as is a young lady, to take a liking to a Papist, because we know the Papists are all rebel; and would cut our throats, only for the protection of our generous and merciful laws.”