sonable proceeding, especially towards a landed proprietor of Mr. Mortimer's respectability and standing in the county; and, beyond doubt, had it been suggested in the first instance, Priminheere would have gladly assented. But now that he had been able to rally, and to discover his true position respecting the affair in question, he assumed a higher tone, and urged the immediate apprehension of Mortimer. He represented that the act which had taken place, was the common resource of a disappointed gamester; that if notice were given to the accused, he would probably fly, and elude the hands of justice. He said that Mortimer had borne a suspicious character for many years; that his estate had been deeply encumbered, and himself embarrassed, and that he would prosecute him in this instance upon his own responsibility. Great attention was paid to these statements, made plausibly, and with seeming impartiality; but the proposition of sending officers to Byrdwood was at first received with great surprise, and it was intimated to Priminheere, that too much caution could not be used in taking such a step. He insisted and remonstrated, and, notwithstanding the difficulties which his brother Charles from time to time interposed, he ultimately persuaded the men in

authority that the arrest might not only be made with safety, but that such a course would be praiseworthy, and even indispensable. This resolution being taken, it was arranged that an officer from London should be sent for, and that the warrant should be placed in his hands, jointly with a constable of the neighbourhood. However, no sooner had Charles Priminheere learned this determination, than he hurried to Byrdwood, and urged the escape of Mortimer with the earnestness which we have described. For, to say nothing of his attachment to Mary Mortimer, he believed it impossible that her brother could be guilty of forgery, and condemned the proceeding which had been taken, as harsh and unjustifiable. When James Priminheere met Mortimer, as we have related, the officer was hourly expected; and the reader may possibly have guessed, by this time, the occasion of the loud ringing at Byrdwood gate, an event, however, which we shall ourselves explain in the next Chapter.

CHAPTER XII.

THE VILLAGE ALEHOUSE.

Imagination fondly stoops to trace

The parlour splendours of that festive place."

GOLDSMITH.

IN a nook hard by the high road which led onwards to Bedford, stood the village alehouse, One of those ancient elms which the forefathers of many generations had venerated, still spread its ample shade around the dwelling of mine host. Five massive limbs stood forth from the wide girth of the tree, whose sheltering boughs formed a canopy for the tired traveller, and a retiring place from the summer's fierceness. The leaf had now fallen, and many a fruitful branch had withered, but the giant stem towered in naked majesty, bespeaking the admiration of the passenger, and kindling the fond remembrance of village tales. The oaken seat, fretted deeply with rustic names, encircled the old idol of the place; the round-toed table had not as yet been taken in, and the mug of the

way-going waggoner still foamed upon its tottering board. The Boniface of the day was a quiet disciple of the can; neither dropsically large, nor discreditably meagre, nor yet was he proverbially good-humoured. A man he was who calmly passed each day without a sigh or a transport, well enough indeed respected for the silent zeal with which he dispensed his liquor, but one who would be scarcely more remembered in the grave than a stray cat, or a falling sparrow. The glories of his much-frequented public were reserved for the bulky personage whom he had for thirty years called his wife. If he were indifferently proportioned, she was immense; if his face were pale and unimportant, her's was like the full-blown peony; if his legs were unworthy of the gouty stocking and the giant slipper, her's were full, and round, and firm as her own imperial alebarrels; if his ordinary arm and servile hand passed unnoticed, her's, whether in the field or the closet, was a mighty weapon, which even in its gentlest movements, might create alarm. So courteous sometimes, with words as nice as honey, she won every guest, and doubled all the scores; but then again, so wrathful upon occasion, she would awe her spouse into silence, heave out the obstinate drunkard, and strike

dumb with terror the careless debtor of the week. It was to this Herculean lady that Albert Moonshine owed his arm-chair and his influence.

"What and if he baan't so wise," she was wont to say, with a voice like a new mill-wheel, "is he not the gentleman, and don't he drink like other folk, ay, and much more than your-"

We cannot venture to write the remainder of her speech, which was accompanied by an upturning of the nose and eyes, significant enough to have upset at least a dozen Temperance societies. Carl Jones, the riotous blacksmith, was like an unweaned lamb when she took him to task; indeed, it was reported for some time in the village, that she had laid violent hands on him upon a certain emergency, in the same manner as St. Dunstan is supposed to have treated the devil. And such a hatred did she entertain against lawyers and excisemen, that when any such entered her abode, they were compelled to use as many spells to soothe her, as would have made them pass for magicians in any other country.

It was about the hour of Mortimer's return home, or perhaps rather earlier, when a choice group of visitors were assembled at the village alehouse. Moonshine, Jones, the man of office