to my mind. There was the Scotchman of whom they made a marquis; I never could endure him—always voted against him."
"Right or wrong, uncle?" cried John, who loved a little mischief in his heart.
"No, sir—right, but never wrong. Lord Gosford always voted against him too; and do you think, jackanapes, that my friend the Earl of Gosford and—and—myself were ever wrong? No, sir, men in my day were different creatures from what they are now: we were never wrong, sir; we loved our country, and had no motive for being in the wrong."
"How was it with Lord Bute, uncle?"
"Lord Bute, sir," cried the old man with great warmth, "was the minister, sir—he was the minister; aye, he was the minister, sir, and was paid for what he did."
"But Lord Chatham, was he not the minister too?"
Now nothing vexed the old gentleman more than to hear William Pitt called by his tardy honors; and yet, unwilling to give up what he thought his political opinions, he exclaimed, with an unanswerable positiveness of argument,
"Billy Pitt, sir, was the minister, sir; but—but—but—he was our minister, sir."
Emily, unable to see her uncle agitated by such useless disputes, threw a reproachful glance on her brother, as she observed timidly,—
"That was a glorious administration, sir, I believe."
"Glorious indeed! Emmy dear," said the bachelor, softening with the sound of her voice, and the recollections of his younger days, "we beat the French everywhere—in America—in Germany; we took—(counting on his fingers)—we took Quebec—yes, Lord Gosford lost a cousin there; and we took all the Canadas; and we took their fleets; there was a young man killed in the battle between Hawke and Conflans, who was much attached to Lady Juliana—poor soul! how much she regretted him when dead, though she never could abide him when living—ah! she was a tender-hearted creature!"
Mr. Benfield, like many others, continued to love imag-
