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waistcoat, wine ; when she accepted or when she refused these refreshments ; when Mr. Newcome told her a dreadfully stupid story; when the Colonel called cheerily from his end of the table, “My dear Mrs. Mackenzie, you don't take any wine to-day; may I not have the honour of drinking a glass of champagne with you ?" when the new boy from the country upset some sauce upon her shoulder ; when Mrs. Newcome made the signal for departure ; and I have no doubt in the drawing-room, when the ladies retired thither. “Mrs. Mack is perfectly awful,” Clive told me afterwards,“ since that dinner in Bryanston Square. Lady Kew and Lady Ann are never out of her mouth ; she has had white muslin dresses made just like Ethel's for herself and her daughter. She has bought a peerage, and knows the pedigree of the whole Kew family. She won't go out in a cab now without the boy on the box; and in the plate for the cards which she has established in the drawing-room, you know, Lady Kew's pasteboard always will come up to the top, though I poke it down whenever I go into the room. As for poor Lady Trotter, the governess of St. Kitts, you know, and the Bishop of Tobago, they are quite bowled out; Mrs. Mack has not mentioned them for a week.”

During the dinner it seemed to me that the lovely young lady by whom I sate cast many glances towards Mrs. Mackenzie, which did not betoken particular pleasure. Miss Ethel asked me several questions regarding Clive, and also respecting Miss Mackenzie ; perhaps her questions were rather downright and imperious, and she patronized me in a manner that would not have given all gentlemen pleasure. I was Clive's friend, his schoolfellow ? had seen him a great deal? know him very well-very well, indeed ? “Was it true that he had been very thoughtless ? very wild ?” “Who told her so ?” “ That was not her question” (with a blush). “It was not true, and I ought to know. He was not spoiled. He was very good-natured, generous, told the truth. He loved his profession very much, and had great talent." “ Indeed, she was very glad. Why do they sneer at his profession? It seemed to her quite as good as her father's and brother's. Were artists not very dissipated ?” “Not more so, nor often so much as other young men.” “Was Mr. Binnie rich, and was he going to leave all his money to his niece? How long have you known them? Is Miss Mackenzie as good-natured as she looks ? Not very clever, I suppose. Mrs. Mackenzie looks very-No, thank you, no more. Grandmamma (she is very deaf, and cannot hear) scolded me for reading the book you wrote, and took the book away. I got it afterwards and read it all. I don't think there was any harm in it. Why do you give such bad characters of women ? Don't you know any good ones?” “Yes, two as good as any in the world. They are unselfish : they are pious ; they are always doing good ; they live in the country.” “Why don't you put them into a book ? Why don't you put my uncle into a book? He is so good, that nobody, could make him good enough. Before I came out, I heard a young lady (Lady Clavering's daughter, Miss Amory,) sing a song of yours. I have never spoken to an author before. I saw Mr. Lyon at Lady Popinjoy's and heard him speak. He said it was very hot, and he looked so, I am sure. Who is the greatest author now alive? You will tell me when you come upstairs after dinner ;” and the young lady sails away, following the matrons, who rise and ascend to the drawing-room. Miss Newcome has been watching the behaviour of the author, by whom she sate, curious to know what such a person's habits are, whether he speaks and acts like other people, and in what respect authors are different from persons “in society."

When we had sufficiently enjoyed claret and politics belowstairs, the gentlemen went to the drawing-room to partake of coffee and the ladies? delightful conversation. We had heard previously the tinkling of the piano above, and the well-known sound of a couple of Miss Rosey's five songs. The two young ladies were engaged over an album at a side-table, when the males of the party arrived. The book contained a number of Clive's drawings made in the time of his very early youth for the amusement of his little cousins. Miss Ethel seemed to be very much pleased with these performances, which Miss Mackenzie likewise examined with great good nature and satisfaction. So she did the views of Rome, Naples, Marble Head in the county of Sussex, in the same collection; so she did the Berlin cockatoo and spaniel which Mrs. Newcome was working in idle moments ; so she did the “ Books of Beauty,” “Flowers of Loveliness, and so forth. She thought the prints very sweet and pretty: she thought the poetry very pretty and sweet. Which did she like best, Mr. Niminy's " Lines to a bunch of violets," or Miss Piminy's “Stanzas to a wreath of roses ?Miss Mackenzie was quite puzzled to say which of these masterpieces she preferred; she found them alike so pretty. She appealed, as in most cases, to mamma. “How, my darling love, can I pretend to know ?” mamma says. “I have been a soldier's wife, battling about the world. I have not had your advantages. I had no drawing-masters, nor music-masters as you: have. You, dearest child, must instruct ine in these things." This, poses Rosey: who prefers to have her opinions dealt out to her like: her frocks, bonnets, handkerchiefs, her shoes and gloves, and the order thereof; the lumps of sugar for her tea; the proper quantity of raspberry jam for breakfast: who trusts for all supplies corporeal and spiritual to her mother. For her own part, Rosey is pleased with everything in nature. Does she love music? Oh, yes. Bellini and Donizetti? Oh, yes. Dancing ? They had no dancing at grand

mamma's, but she adores dancing, and Mr. Clive dances very well, indeed. (A smile from Miss Ethel at this admission.) Does she like the country? Oh, she is so happy in the country! London ? London is delightful, and so is the sea-side. She does not know really which she likes best, London or the country, for mamma is not near her to decide, being engaged listening to Sir Brian, who is laying down the law to her, and smiling, smiling with all her might. In fact, Mr. Newcome says to Mr. Pendennis in his droll, humorous way," That woman grins: like a Cheshire cat." Who was the naturalist who first discovered that peculiarity of the cats in Cheshire ?

In regard to Miss Mackenzie's opinions, then, it is not easy to discover that they are decided, or profound, or original; but it seems pretty clear that she has a good temper, and a happy contented disposition. And the smile which her pretty countenance wears shows off to great advantage the two dimples on her pink cheeks. Her teeth are even and white, her hair of a beautiful colour, and no snow can be whiter than her fair round neck and polished shoulders. She talks very kindly and good-naturedly with Fanny and Maria (Mrs. Hobson's precious ones) until she is bewildered by the statements which those young ladies make regarding astronomy, botany, and chemistry, all of which they are studying. “My dears, I don't know a single word about any of these abstruse subjects: I wish I did," she says. And Ethel Newcome laughs. She, too, is ignorant upon all these subjects. “I am glad there is some one else," says Rosey, with naïveté, “who is as ignorant as .I am.” And the younger children, with a solemn air, say they will ask mamma leave to teach her. So everybody, somehow, great or small, seems to protect her; and the humble, simple, gentle little thing wins a certain degree of goodwill from the world, which is touched by her humility and her pretty sweet looks. The servants in Fitzroy Square waited upon her much more kindly than upon her smiling bustling mother. Uncle James is especially fond of his little Rosey. Her presence in his study never discomposes him; whereas his sister fatigues him with the exceeding activity of her gratitude, and her energy in pleasing. As I was going away, I thought I heard Sir Brian Newcome say, “It” (but what “It” was, of course I cannot conjecture) -" It will do very well. The mother seems a superior woman."

CHAPTER XXV.

IS PASSED IN A PUBLIC-HOUSE. T HAD no more conversation with Miss Newcome that night, who I had forgotten her curiosity about the habits of authors. When she had ended her talk with Miss Mackenzie, she devoted the rest of the evening to her uncle, Colonel Newcome; and concluded by saying, -66 And now you will come and ride with me to-morrow, uncle, won't you ?” which the Colonel faithfully promised to do. And she shook hands with Clive very kindly; and with Rosey very frankly, but as I thought with rather ». patronizing air; and she made a very stately bow to Mrs. Mackenzie, and so departed with her father and mother. Lady Kew had gone away earlier. Mrs. Mackenzie informed us afterwards that the Countess had gone to sleep after her dinner. If it was at Mrs. Mack's story about the Governor's ball at Tobago, and the quarrel for precedence between the Lord Bishop's lady, Mrs. Rotchet, and the Chief Justice's wife, Lady Barwise, I should not be at all surprised.

A handsome fly carried off the ladies to Fitzroy Square, and the two worthy Indian gentlemen in their company; Clive and I walking with the usual Havannah to light us home. And Clive remarked that he supposed there had been some difference between his father and the bankers; for they had not met for ever so many months before, and the Colonel always had looked very gloomy when his brothers were mentioned. “And I can't help thinking," says the astute youth, " that they fancied I was in love with Ethel (I know the Colonel would have liked me to make up to her), and that may have occasioned the row. Now, I suppose, they think I am engaged to Rosey. What the deuce are they in such a hurry to marry me for?"

Clive's companion remarked “that marriage was a laudable institution; and an honest attachment an excellent conservator of youthful morals." On which Clive replied, “Why don't you marry yourself?”

This, it was justly suggested, was no argument, but a merely personal allusion foreign to the question, which was, that marriage was laudable, &c.

Mr. Clive laughed. “Rosey is as good a little creature as can be," he said. “She is never out of temper, though I fancy Mrs. Mackenzie tries her. I don't think she is very wise: but she is uncommonly pretty, and her beauty grows on you. As for Ethel, anything so high and mighty I have never seen since I saw the French giantess. Going to court, and about to parties every night where a parcel of young fools flatter her, has perfectly spoiled her. By Jove, how handsome she is! How she turns with her long neck, and looks at you from under those black eyebrows! If I painted her hair, I think I should paint it almost blue, and then glaze over with lake. It is blue. And how finely her head is joined on to her shoulders !”_And he waves in the air an imaginary line with his cigar. “She would do for Judith, wouldn't she? Or how grand she would look as Herodias's daughter sweeping down a stair—in a great dress of cloth of gold like Paul Veronese-holding a charger before her with white arms you knowwith the muscles accented like the glorious Diana at Paris--a savage smile on her face and a ghastly solemn gory head on the dish-I see the picture, sir, I see the picture!" and he fell to curling his mustachios just like his brave old father.

I could not help laughing at the resemblance, and mentioning it to my friend. He broke, as was his wont, into a fond eulogium of his sire, wished he could be like him-worked himself up into another state of excitement, in which he averred that if his father wanted him to marry, he would marry that instant. “And why not Rosey? She is a dear little thing. Or why not that splendid Miss Sherrick? What a head !-a regular Titian! I was looking at the difference of their colour at Uncle Honeyman's that day of the déjeúner. The shadows in Rosey's face, sir, are all pearly tinted. You ought to paint her in milk, sir !" cries the enthusiast. “Have you ever remarked the grey round her eyes, and the sort of purple bloom of her cheek? Rubens could have done the colour: but I don't somehow like to think of a young lady and that sensuous old Peter Paul in company. I look at her like a little wild-flower in a field-like a little child at play, siroPretty little tender nursling. If I see her passing in the street, I feel as if I would like some fellow to be rude to her, that I might have the pleasure of knocking him down. She is like a little song-bird, sir,-a tremulous, fluttering little linnet that you would take into your hand, pavidam quærentem inatrem, and smooth its little plumes, and let it perch on your finger and sing. The Sherrick creates quite a different sentiment-the Sherrick is splendid, stately, sleepy...

“Stupid," hints Clive's companion.

“Stupid! Why not? Some women ought to be stupid. What you call dulness I call repose. Give me a calm woman, a slow woman,-a lazy, majestic woman. Show me a gracious virgin bearing a lily; not a leering giggler frisking a rattle. A lively woman

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