from childhood— the daughter of a
partner in the firm. They were early
affianced by their parents, and in the fulness
of time married each other, as a matter of
course. Mr. Pilkington rose at the same
hour every morning, arrived at the bank at
the same minute, looked over the same
account-books at stated times in the day,
read and answered the necessary correspondence,
saw and conversed with such persons as
had business at the house and required a
personal interview; and, when all this was
done, returned home, as regularly as the clock
told the hour, to dinner; after which, the
evening was in general quietly passed in
a game of cards. Sometimes, but rarely,
they visited some recognised place of
amusement.

Did they like the drama? They said,
"Yes," but no opinion was attainable from
them as to the rationale of their liking, only
it transpired that they did not usually go to
tragedy, because they did not wish to cry;
nor did they patronise comedy or farce,
because they did not like to laugh overmuch.
There exists a modern class of piece that
provokes neither laughing nor tears, that
simply amuses without exciting, and gently
stimulates sensation without kindling emotion.
This, as far as I could make out, was the
style of drama which best pleased Mr. and
Mrs. Pilkington.

Ranelagh Villa had a garden, and, as Tom
Goodwood thought that some variety was
indispensable to me, he proposed that I should
pass some half-hour there: assuring me that
it was nicely cultivated and disposed, and,
indeed, worth looking at. Ere long I found
myself in a pleasant arbour, and observed
there an acacia or two. I plucked a leaf of
the plant, and amused myself with the exhibition
of its sensitive properties.

"Strange," I murmured,"that there should
be people in the world apparently less
sentient and impressible than this plant! What
a blessing might some great misfortune prove
to Mr. and Mrs. Pilkington. It might make
them feel and think; it might compel them
to have opinions. If all were like them,
however, we should have no political revolutions,
at any rate."

"The Pilkingtons are very quiet people,"
said Tom Goodwood, "but they are very
estimable in their way. They never make
any demonstration about anything in the
world; yet they will do good, if asked.
They will even lend you money at need, if
you don't want too much; and, though no
doubt it will be regularly entered in their
accounts, they will never trouble you for the
repayment, or even allude to it again. One
is perfectly at ease in their society on all
such scores. You will find them very quiet
people."

We returned into the drawing-room,
and shortly afterwards Tom and I took
our departure. The Pilkingtons renewed
their invitation, and appeared as if, on the
whole, I had pleased them. They wished
to see me again another day. I readily complied,
but why I could hardly tell. And,
truly, I can give no adequate reason for my
acquiescence.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

FEW Englishmen ever troubled themselves
to inquire the history and origin of their
patron saint. Though the Seven
Champions may have been duly devoured in
boyhood, and although we have St. George's
Channel, St. George's Fields, and St. George's
Parishes, Halls, Barracks, Churches, and
Places, without number; and although we
handle St. George's effigy every day upon our
coins, and see it everywhere— from the
insignia of one of the highest orders of knighthood,
even to the bedaubed signs of our
meanest public-houses—yet the generality
of us know very little about St. George
himself.

The following moving history of the good
saint was published for the edification of
Englishmen in the seventeenth century. The
author declares that he made the abridgment
from the Ancient and True English Legend,
"whereof there be but two copies remaining
in the whole kingdom." He then
proceeds, in his own manner, thus:—

St. George was a Gentleman of Cappadocia,
handsome and well-made, valiant as
his sword, and above all an excellent good
Christian. After divers great Journeys,
happening to be in a certain City of Lybia, he
was forewarned in a Dream, that he should
not go from Thence, till further Orders.
Near this City there was a deep Lake, the
Retreat of a most dreadful and Ruffianly
Dragon, the biggest and most Ferocious,
that was to be met with in the whole Nation.
of Dragons. This Monster made terrible
Devastations in all the Country round about.
Abundance of Adventurous Knights, that
had attempted to attack him, had been
devoured, and then whole Regiments
presumed to overcome him, but, alack! he
routed them all with Slaughterous Flight.
His Breath I find cast forth a Smoke, thicker,
blacker, and in greater quantities than the
Funnel of the Biggest Brewhouses in London.
Now this cover'd all that durst approach
him with thick Darkness, and at the same
time made them to suck in a mortal Poison
—Did they attack him Behind ? with one
single whisk of his Tail he straight laid you
down a Hundred Men * * * * * Now he
was not satisfied like a Reasonable Dragon
with Spreading of Terror and Death in all
the Villages round his Lake, but forsooth
must make himself formidable even in the
City, tho' Care had been taken ere this
to surround it with very high and thick
Walls.