In the years gone by, one of the stalls in Helstonleigh Cathedral was
held by the Reverend Dr. Yorke: he had also some time filled the office
of sub-dean. He had married, imprudently, the daughter of an Irish
peer, a pretty, good-tempered girl, who was as fond of extravagance as
she was devoid of means to support it. She had not a shilling in the
world; it was even said that the bills for her trousseau came in
afterwards to Dr. Yorke: but people, you know, are given to scandal.
Want of fortune had been nothing, had Lady Augusta only possessed
ordinary prudence; but she spent the doctor's money faster than he
received it.
In the course of years Dr. Yorke died, leaving eight children, and
slender means for them. There were six boys and two girls. Lady Augusta
went to reside in a cheap and roomy house (somewhat dilapidated) in the
Boundaries, close to her old prebendal residence, and scrambled on in
her careless, spending fashion, never out of debt. She retained their
old barouche, and _would_ retain it, and was a great deal too fond of
ordering horses from the livery stables and driving out in state.
Gifted with excellent qualities had her children been born; but of
training, in the highest sense of the word, she had given them none.
George, the eldest, had a commission, and was away with his regiment.
Roland, the second, had been designed for the Church, but no persuasion
could induce him to be sufficiently attentive to his studies to qualify
himself for it; he was therefore placed with Mr.
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