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 in praise of his reverend pastor, who had been extremely kind to himself individually, and had presented to him that very flitch of bacon on which he had that day dined. "Extremely good in its kind it is," said Maxwell, "but a little too salt."—To this cause he imputed his being so excessively dry, and the quantity of ale that he said he was obliged to swallow.

His eloquence and his ale at last setting the old hero asleep, allowed to the Major an hour of rest, which he had begun very much to want. When both were refreshed, the sister announced Mr. Wentbridge. Maxwell hastened out to meet the vicar, and soon introduced a gentleman turned of fifty, of a countenance mild, pale, and penetrating, with grey hairs thinly scattered over his head; a figure tall, elegant, and prepossessing, and, though somewhat slender, strong and