Pelham, Volume 1.

le ciel vous tie

lie

cursion to Paris. Mr. Davison had already departed. Miss Trafford had been gone, God knows how long, and I was not at all disposed to be lef

akfast as usual. Lord Vincent's carriage was at the door

arelessly looking at it, and reaching across th

d with my mistake: "I thought that you would have be

ook at you I am always at least r

ear. Whether or not his ascetic nature was somewhat mollified by the soft smiles and softer voice of the beautiful countess, I cannot pretend to say; but he certainly entered into a conversation wi

gives language to other people. Dinner parties, usually so stupid, are, at her house, quite d

in one of Le Sage's novels, who was constantly changing his servants, and yet had but one suit of livery, which every new comer, whether he was tall or short, fat or thin, was obliged to wear. We adopt manners, however incongruous and ill suited to our nature, and thus we always see

cent; "and pray, Mr. Wor

t sneer over Vincent's somewhat inelegant person, "I

ipsi,' as Pliny says," muttered Lord Vincent

eing married, are always entitled to certain consideration, put- -par exemple-into a bed-room, a little larger than a dog kennel, and accommodated with a looking-glass, that does not distort one's features like a paralytic stroke. But we single men suffer a plurality of evils and hard-ships, in entrusting ourselves to the casualties of rural hospitality. We are thrust up into any attic repository-exposed to the mercy of rats, and the incursions of swallows. Our lavations are performed in a cracked basin, and we are so far removed from human assistance, that our very bells sink into silence before they reach half way down the stairs. But two days