 - »What could a woman
desire in a match, more than the sopiting of a very dangerous claim, and the
alliance of a son-in-law, noble, brave, well-gifted, and highly connected - sure
to float whenever the tide sets his way - strong, exactly where we are weak, in
pedigree, and in the temper of a swordman? - Sure no reasonable woman would
hesitate, - But, alas!« - Here his argument was stopped by the consciousness
that Lady Ashton was not always reasonable, in his sense of the word. »To prefer
some clownish Merse laird to the gallant young nobleman, and to the secure
possession of Ravenswood upon terms of easy compromise - it would be the act of
a madwoman!«
    Thus pondered the veteran politician, until they reached Bittlebrains'
House, where it had been previously settled they were to dine and repose
themselves, and prosecute their journey in the afternoon.
    They were received with an excess of hospitality; and the most marked
attention was offered to the Master of Ravenswood, in particular, by their noble
entertainers. The truth was, that Lord Bittlebrains had obtained his peerage by
a good deal of plausibility, an art of building up a character for wisdom upon a
very trite style of commonplace eloquence, a steady observation of the changes
of the times, and the power of rendering certain political services to those who
could best reward them. His lady and he not feeling quite easy under their new
honours, to which use had not adapted their feelings, were very desirous to
procure the fraternal countenance of those who were born denizens of the regions
into which they had been exalted from a lower sphere. The extreme attention
which they paid to the Master of Ravenswood, had its usual effect in exalting
his importance in the eyes of the Lord Keeper, who, although he had a reasonable
degree of contempt for Lord Bittlebrains' general parts, entertained a high
opinion of the acuteness of his judgment in all matters of self-interest.
    »I wish Lady Ashton had seen this,« was his internal reflection; »no man
knows so well as Bittlebrains on which side his bread is buttered; and he fawns
on the Master like a beggar's messan on a cook. And my lady, too, bringing
forward her beetle-browed misses to skirl and play upon the virginals, as if she
said, pick and choose. They are no more comparable to Lucy than an owl is to a
cygnet, and so they may carry their black brows to a farther market.«
    The entertainment being ended, our travellers
