, and I find it to mean tinctured with sentiment. On examining further, sentiment is explained to be thought, idea, notion. A sentimental man, then, is one who has thoughts, ideas, notions; an unsentimental man is one destitute of thought, idea, or notion.« And Mark stopped: he did not smile, he did not look round for admiration: he had said his say, and was silent. »Ma foi! mon ami,« observed Mr. Moore to Yorke; »ce sont vraiment des enfants terribles, que les vôtres!« Rose, who had been listening attentively to Mark's speech, replied to him: - »There are different kinds of thoughts, ideas, and notions,« said she, »good and bad: sentimental must refer to the bad, or Miss Helstone must have taken it in that sense, for she was not blaming Mr. Moore; she was defending him.« »That's my kind little advocate!« said Moore, taking Rose's hand. »She was defending him,« repeated Rose, »as I should have done had I been in her place, for the other ladies seemed to speak spitefully.« »Ladies always do speak spitefully,« observed Martin; »it is the nature of womenites to be spiteful.« Matthew now, for the first time, opened his lips: - »What a fool Martin is, to be always gabbling about what he does not understand.« »It is my privilege, as a freeman, to gabble on whatever subject I like,« responded Martin. »You use it, or rather abuse it, to such an extent,« rejoined the elder brother, »that you prove you ought to have been a slave.« »A slave! a slave! That to a Yorke, and from a Yorke! This fellow,« he added, standing up at the table, and pointing across it to Matthew, - »this fellow forgets, what every cottier in Briarfield knows, that all born of our house have that arched instep under which water can flow - proof that there has not been a slave of the blood for three hundred years.« »Mountebank!« said Matthew. »Lads, be silent!« exclaimed Mr. Yorke. »Martin, you are a mischief-maker: there would have been no disturbance, but for you.« »Indeed! Is that correct? Did I begin, or did Matthew? Had I spoken to him when he accused me of gabbling like a