"Save him," replied Jonathan. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. Ramage back his forty pounds. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him.
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