the other, as the crowflies. Both the world of fashion and the Court of Chancery arethings of precedent and usage: oversleeping Rip Van Winkles whohave played at strange

brink of the void beyond),it is a very little speck. There is much good in it; there aremany good and true people in it; it has its appointed place. Butthe evil of it is

and its growth is sometime

loppings and prunings ofthe woodman's axe can make no crash or crackle as they fall. Thedeer, looking soaked, leave quagmires where they pass. The shot ofa rifle loses its sharpness in the moist air, and its smoke movesin a tardy little cloud towards the green rise, coppice-topped,that makes a background for the falling rain. The view from myLady Dedlock's own windows is alternately a lead-coloured view anda view in Indian ink. The vases on the stone terrace in theforeground catch the rain all day; and the heavy drops fall--drip,drip, drip--upon the broad flagged pavement, called from old timethe Ghost's Walk, all night. On Sundays the little church in thepark is mouldy; the oaken pulpit breaks out into a cold sweat; andthere is a general smell and taste as of the ancient Dedlocks intheir graves. My Lady Dedlock (who is childless), looking out inthe early twilight fr

Hewould on the whole admit nature to be a good idea (a little low,perhaps, when not enclosed with a park-fence), but an ideadependent for its execution on your great county families. He is agentleman of strict conscience, disdainful of all littleness and

nty years, full measur

ht-greyhair and whiskers, his fine shirt-frill, his pure-white waistcoat,and his blue coat with bright buttons always buttoned. He isceremonious, stately, most polite on every occasion to

could dispense with any more. Butshe had beauty, pride, ambition, insolent resolve, and sense enoughto portion out a legion of fine ladies. Wealth and station, add

uently mentioned. My Lady Dedlock, havingconquered HER world, fell not into the melting, but rather into thefreezing, mood. An exhausted composure, a

eaven to-morrow, she might beexpe

as a fine face--originally of a character thatwould be rather called very pretty than han

ourable BobStables has frequently asserted upon oath, "of all her points."The same authority observes that she is pe

, upon this muddy, murky afternoon, presents himself an old-fashioned old gentleman, attorney-at-law and eke solicitor of theHigh Court of Chancery, who has the honour of acting as legaladviser of the Dedlocks and has as many cast-iron boxes in hisoffice with that name outside as if the present baronet were thecoin of the conjuro

abroadamong men, shut up in the breast of Mr. Tulkinghorn. He is of whatis called the old school--a phrase generally meaning any schoolthat seems never to have been young--and wears knee-breeches tiedwith ribbons, and gaiters or stockings. One peculiarity of hisblack clothes and of his black stockings, be they silk or worsted,is that they never shine. Mute, close, irresponsive to anyglancing light, his dress is like himself. He n

ck is with my Lady an

bute. He likes Mr. Tulkinghorn's dress; there is a kind oftribute in that too. It is eminently respectable, and likewise, ina gene

f her little world. Shesupposes herself to be an inscrutable Being, quite out of the reachand ken of ordinary mortals--seeing herself in her glass, whereindeed she looks so. Yet every dim little star revolving abouther, from her maid to

y the stately fleet of the majesticLilliput. "If you want to address our people, sir," say Blaze andSparkle, the jewellers--meaning by our people Lady Dedlock and therest--"you must remember that you are not dealing with the generalpublic; you must hit our people in their weakest place, and theirweakest place is such a place." "To make this article go down,gentlemen," say Sheen and Gloss, the mercers, to their friends themanufacturers, "you must come to us, because we know where to havethe fashionable people, and we can make it fashion

know what is passing inthe Dedlock mind a

been again before the

ys Sir Leicester,

plies,making one of his quiet bows to my Lady, who is on

e in Lincolnshire still upon her, "whether anything hasbeen done.""Nothing

will be,"

objection to an inter

not in the title of that cause, is a mostridiculous accident. But he regards the Court of Chancery, even ifit should involve an occasional delay of justice and a triflingamount of confusion, as a something devised in conjunction with avariety of other somethings by the perfection o

davits have been put u

esponsibility than necessary--"and further, as Isee you are going to Paris, I have brought them in my pocket."(Sir Leicester was going to Paris too, by the by, but the delightof the fashionable intelligence

"My Lady interrupts, requesting him to mi

s and begins again lowerdown. My Lady carele

ns that the fire ishot where my Lady sits and that the hand-screen is more beautifulthan useful, being priceless but small. My Lady, changing herposition, sees the papers on th

she asks, looking full athim in her carel

r the originalhand was formed. Why do you ask?""Anything to vary this detestable monotony. Oh, go on, do!"Mr. Tulkingh

ady murmurs with white lips, "only that; but it islike the faintness of death. Don't speak to me. Ring, and take meto my roo

ghorn to

ne. "I have been quite alarmed. I never knewmy Lady swoon before. But the weather is ext