Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

5 6 RAVENSHOE.
made a point of taking the time from the rising young fellows, as
every one ought to who wished to go with the world. In his day,
for instance, it was the custom to talk with considerable freedom
on sacred subjects, and lie himself had been somewhat notorious
for that sort of thing; but look at him now: he conformed with
the times, and went to church. Every one went to church now.
Let him call their attention to the fact, that a great improvement
had taken place in public morals of late years.
So the good-natured old heathen gave them what, I dare say,
he thought was the best of advice. He is gone now to see what
his system of morality is worth. I am very shy of judging him,
or the men of his time. It gives me great pain to hear the-men
of the revolutionary era spoken of flippantly. The time was so
exceptional. The men of that time were a race of giants. One
wonders how the world got through that time at all. Six hundred millions of treasure spent by Britain alone! How many
millions of lives lost none may guess. What wonder if there
were hell-fire clubs, and all kinds of monstrosities? Would any
of the present generation have attended the fete of the goddess
of reason, if they had lived at that time, I wonder? Of course
they would n't.
Charles went alone to the poultry-yard; but no one was. there,
except the head keeper, who was administering medicine to a
cock, whose appearance was indictable, - that is to say, if the
laws against cock-fighting were enforced. Lady Ascot had gone
in; so Charles went in too, and wen' up-stairs to his aunt's
room.
One of the old lady's last fancies was sitting in the dark, or in
a gloom so profound as to approach to darkness. So Charles,
passing out of a light corridor, and shutting the door behind him,
found himself unable to see his hand before him. Confident, however, of his knowledge of localities, he advanced with such success that he immediately fell crashing headlong over an ottoman,
and in his descent, imagining that he was falling into a pit or gulf
of unknown depth, uttered a wild cry of alarm. Whereupon the
voice of Lady Ascot from close by answered, " Come in," as if
she thought she'd heard somebody knock.
"Come up would be more appropriate, aunt," said Charles.
"Why do you sit in the dark? I've killed myself, I believe."
"Is that you, Charles?" said she. "What brings you over?
My dear, I am delighted. Open a bit of the window, Charles,
and let me see you."
Charles did as he was desired; and, as the strong light from
without fell upon him, the old lady gave a deep sigh.
"Ah, dear, so like poor dear Petre about the eyes! There
never was a handsome Ravenshoe since him, and there never