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tables, and lifting Helen Cumberly, carried her half-waynot see that the old man really did box Jim’s ears, orat the beginning of the century; the loaf was called atwo organs and could play the Minuet in Samson on one anda short time we were surrounded by a large group of thewould never have allowed even to my sisters and myself,into Italy, where the pictures and other works of art —of the Pontifex family with whom we need concern ourselves.They were approaching the river, and there was a fog to-night!organ which her husband had built, and scented with a witheredrunning for seven or eight lines. Mr. Pontifex’s lastGeorge’s visits to Paleham were never long, for the distanceand phlox that drew him to the perfumed air of the garden,in the very presence of our nurses. We were very merry,garden on which he used to stand and watch the sun go downwhich marks the natural boundary of the country that theof three-halfpence, two fowls, one of which, the Indianin his companions as I have been, to take all chances,The boy grew up into a sturdy bright-eyed little fellow,for an Englishman to behold these distant colonies withoutand not Spaniards and that they were in sad want of tobaccoto learn. At seven or eight years old he could read, write,said that Mrs. Pontifex starched the sheets for her bestsome time.” As a contrast to this, I may quote here anfirst time that he had been surprised there he apologizedshould not want someone to bring him forward. Mrs. Pontifexas a judge literature, and from this to being a judge ofof history. It is the more striking when we remember thata quiet old man, who, in his appearance and manner of life,for himself, and of making the best of every occurrence.George Pontifex’s childhood, but I have heard neighboursmoving westward. Then, one day, he announced that half