This, as you probably are aware, is a standing order in the Shades, wherever our pictures happen to be; the only choice allowed us is as to which of our portraits we shall attach ourselves for the night. Now it so happens that every existing portrait of me. hangs in a country-house where it is the rarest thing possible for anything of more consideration than a mouse to be stirring after midnight. Hence the peculiar pleasure which I experienced when I realised that you are still in the flesh."

Then in the politest manner, but with an eagerness which he tried unsuccessfully to disguise, my new acquaintance pressed me with questions about what was going on in the great world-politics, art, the theatres, the law courts, society of rank, the construction and prospects of the Cabinet-on each and all of these he found me totally unable to inform him. For literature and science, the only fields with which I can claim any familiarity, he manifested a deplorable contempt. 'My dear sir," he said, "I am a Fellow of the Royal Society; but I have very rarely attended their meetings. Each time I have done so I have conceived a deeper distaste for the task of Sisyphus; each succeeding generation is engaged in dispelling the fallacies of that which preceded it. As for literature, it is to the realities of life merely what the steam is to the punch-bowl-a pleasantly scented vapour, only a whet to the thirst of one who has learnt deep drinking."

"Yet you were yourself a successful author," I hazarded. "Lord Byron has affirmed that in the 'Castle of Otranto' and the 'Mysterious Mother' you proved your

self the father of the first romance and the last tragedy in our language,' and therefore deserving of higher renown than any of his lordship's contemporaries."

"High praise indeed," said Mr Walpole, "though its value, like water, cannot rise above the level of its source; and I must say I never suspected his lordship of literary proclivities."

"Literary proclivities!" I exclaimed; "that is surely a mild expression for the capacity of the author of 'Childe Harold.'

"Ah, I see how it is," he replied; we must be talking of different men. The only Lord Byron whom I knew was he who killed poor Mr Chaworth in a duel.”

Whereupon I pointed out to him the poet Byron (213), whom I happened to recognise at the moment, lounging in a doorway, and explained to him that praise from a poet of such high order was praise indeed.

"I see you wonder that I know nothing of your great men. Sir, in the Shades we mingle only with those whom we knew on earth. We see countless-myriad forms; but we have no means of knowing them. Our only chance of becoming acquainted with what is going on in our old homes exists in the exceedingly rare occasions when we encounter and converse with one still living. You told me that you had never before seen a spirit; only thrice since I breathed my last have I met with living human beings. One was a wretched housemaid, who dropped her candlestick and fled screaming; another was the owner of one of my portraits, who had lingered long over his port in the diningroom where that portrait hung, was seized with apoplexy, and expired in my presence a few

minutes after midnight, just as my spirit disengaged itself from the canvas; on the third occasion, a couple of housebreakers, seeing me standing on the carpet, took to their heels. So you must be indulgent to the curiosity I showed just now in questioning you about the affairs of the world. But to return to the subject we were discussing -literature. 'Tis very true, 'tis a pretty pastime for middle and old age-no pleasanter incident than the post bringing the proofsheets; but it is not work to fill a young, strong life. If a man has learnt to put his mettle into real work before he is thirty, depend upon it he will not be content to spend the rest of his life gathering the leaves of Parnassus."

He spoke scornfully, and being something of a quill-driver myself, I had an uncomfortable feeling of inferiority to the spectre.

"I feel that I am detaining you from the society of your friends below, sir," I said, preparing to

move on.

"Friends!" he sighed, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, alas! most of these are absent -Mr Chute, Sir Horace Mann, Madame de Deffand-they are not here, though I should not complain, having General Conway, who left us just now, and Mr Mason. Pray, do not leave me; you do not conceive what keen pleasure it gives me to converse with one in warm flesh and blood-sure, there never was one who so loved the world as I, or who understood it so well. Yet I flatter myself I parted with it with some philosophy."

The charm of his manner emboldened me to express the wish that he would point out to me some of the people he knew he agreed to do so, and as we descended the

"And are out on ticket-of-leave," I interrupted, coarsely enough, though luckily the allusion was lost on Mr Walpole.

-"But to-night," he continued, the fancy seized me to lodge in a wretched sopra portas (314), that I had done for Mrs Kitty Clive, dimidium animæ meæ.'

"Ah! that accounts, sir, for my not recognising you at once," I exclaimed.

"What!" he replied, "you know my old olive velvet suit. Lord! I had grown sick of it; it clung to me like a cerecloth, and I had no alternative but to don this masquerade."

The sound of my footfall, the only one in that great assembly, caused every one to look round, though I trod as lightly as possible. People looked at me with a wellbred stare; most of them recognised my companion, and began to crowd round him, so that for some time we got no further than the foot of the staircase.

"You know that lady in the laylock dress?" Mr Walpole whispered to me, as he bowed in return to a gracious smile from a handsome lady, leading a roundfaced little boy. "That is Lady Pembroke (137); verily an earthly paragon, and without doubt she is now a heavenly saint, for her husband inflicted martyrdom upon her. Yonder is he (132), in a scarlet uniform and a big red face. left her, you know, and eloped with the pretty Scotch Miss Hunter, and was afterwards brute enough to insult the wife of whom

He

he was unworthy, because she hesitated to divorce him. Of all the ladies I have known, she most fulfils the ideal of grande dame."

I remembered the painful story, and as I looked from one to the other of this ill-matched pair, I could not but reflect that the lady, whose face, with all its beauty, told of a cold and formal nature, was scarcely one to hold in thrall a man of violent passions and impulsive disposition.

"La! Mr Walpole, I vow I was dying to meet with you. Come, give me your arm and take me for a saunter. My good-for-nothing husband has gone off with Mrs Garrick Lord knows where! Won't you avenge me?"

This was one of the loveliest creatures I had ever seen: she had eyes of wonderful softness and brilliancy, and a charm of gesture and manner, of movement of head and hands, that was altogether bewitching. No wonder that Mr Walpole, forgetful of my existence, turned to offer his arm, saying, "With all the pleasure in life, Mrs Sheridan " (55), but at that moment the hand of another lady was laid on his sleeve, and he bowed low to Elizabeth, Duchess of Devonshire (155), a charming phantom in clouds of laces, little bows of pink ribbon, light - blue sash, and powdered hair. Oh, what an apparition of beauty! Rest assured that I, in the unmitigated broadcloth of the nineteenth century, carrying a shocking umbrella in one hand and a shabby chimney - pot hat in the other, felt sufficiently abject in her presence.

Mrs Sheridan's eyes flashed wickedly, and her lips formed a decided pout as she drew her hand away from Mr Walpole's arm, and exclaiming, "Nay; but I am not to be put off with the decimal part

of a man! 'tis a pity that I never can find you except in vulgar fractions, sir," tossed her pretty head, floated off, and was lost in the crowd.

"What a pretty creature she is!" said the Duchess, as her dark eyes followed the petulant beauty; "I don't wonder Mr Sheridan eloped with her."

"I could condone duelling," answered Mr Walpole, "if the cause was always as worthy as that for which he fought two."

"Poor little thing!"" observed the Duchess of Gordon (131), who, looking charming in her white muslin dress, had joined our group, and had witnessed what had passed, "you should devote yourself to her to-night, Mr Walpole; if she finds her husband she will make him a scene she has a sharp tongue, and cannot bear to see our friend Sherry as he is to-night."

She made a significant motion of her hand to her lips.

"Ah, is it so again?" sighed Mr Walpole, shaking his head sadly; "the pity of it, the pity

of it! that such a matchless wit should be so recklessly blunted. Yet he, of all men, might surely echo Ben Jonson

'Leave but one kiss within the cup, And I'll not look for wine.'"

"Pah! I'd never spend a kiss upon a sot," said the Duchess, tossing her chin.

"Yet they say of you, Duchess, that you spent many kisses in the service of a country that holds more sots than any in the world."

"Fie! Mr Walpole," returned the Duchess, who spoke with a strong Scottish accent, "I cannot have my character traduced before this gentleman" (pointing to me). "Mr Walpole refers," she continued, addressing herself to me; and as she spoke, her manner,

which had been languid and as of one weary, brightened into animation," Mr Walpole refers, you must know, to my recruiting service. My duke received the king's commission to raise a regiment of Gordon Highlanders: the fellows showed no disposition to enlist in the Hanoverian army, even at the bidding of the Cock o' the North, so I came to the rescue. I allowed every man who would take the shilling to take it with his lips from between mine. I vow I was vastly sorry when the battalion was at its full strength of a thousand."

am allowed the same facilities as Paris enjoyed, I can only allot the parts according to the make-up; and your Grace, in that magnificent robe of crimson velvet and ermine, can fill no other part but that of Juno. But you must remember that the milliner's art was not allowed to interfere with Paris's impartiality."

"For shame, sir!" cried the Duchess of Gordon; "how dare you make such a suggestion to the mothers of three families?"

All fell a-laughing-though I confess to having felt a little shocked at the freedom with which an actor spoke in the presence of these great ladies.

"Well, well, ladies," observed Garrick, "have it as you will; I throw myself on the mercy of the court, but I beg that in trying my case you will bear in mind the appeal made by an Irish counsel, who, in defending a prisoner, besought the jury to remember the Scriptural doctrine, that there is more joy in heaven over one guilty person who is acquitted, than over ninety and nine innocent ones who are convicted!"

Suddenly all was hushed, and with a look of comical terror they separated, leaving Mr Walpole and me in the presence of a lady of middle age and extraordinary appearance, fantastically arrayed

in oriental dress. I observed that Mr Walpole shuddered slightly, though he was too well-bred to exhibit any expression except one of courteous deference to the newcom'er.

"Well, I declare," she exclaimed in a high key, "that is too bad. I heard you all laughing; and I am dying to hear some fun, and they have all run away as if I had the plague. Why did you let them go, Mr Walpole?"

"I never aspired to have the slightest control over persons of your sex, madam," replied he, in tones of mock solemnity. "I can, however, easily divine that their Graces have gone in search of more diverting company than mine.”

She gave a discontented little laugh, reminding me for all the world of a wicked fairy.

"Well, sir, and isn't it cruelly cold here to-night! La! how I could ever be fool enough to come back to this odious climate, only fit for seals and wild-geese'! And then everything is penetrated with the horrid odeur anglaise — the smell of coal-smoke. I declare I have never been clear of the catarrh since I landed."

"Your ladyship's toilet is certainly better adapted for the latitude of the Golden Horn than an island in the North Sea," observed Mr Walpole, with a malicious glitter in his eye, as he glanced at her open vest, wide silken trousers, and girdle which Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (251) chose to

I was surprised to hear a lady quote Horace so glibly and with such a correct accent; but Mr Walpole only smiled and said

"In common with snakes and some other of the lower animals, I possess that of occasionally casting my slough, whereas your ladyship, dove-like, seems to have but one suit of feathers."

"You must at least admit that they are fine ones. But you men are all the same: you would have us all dressed alike, laced and powdered" ("And washed," I heard Mr Walpole mutter), "no matter what our figures and faces are like. Now I hold that the woman who can do without stays is a fool to wear them. Ah, I remember what the dear King, when he was Prince of Wales, used to say about me-but you and I, Mr Walpole, have been long enough about the Court to know that the motto on all palace gates is 'Hush.'

"Heaven forbid, madam!" ejaculated Mr Walpole, impatiently. "I never was about the Court a moment longer than I could help, and never will be." Then, as if to change the subject, "Pray, don't I see his Grace, your father, yonder? I have not remarked his Grace before in our assembly."

66

Nay, it is not possible, for by some strange omission his portrait is not hung." trait is not hung." (I fancied I heard Mr Walpole mutter under his breath, "It was a greater omission not to hang the original," but perhaps my ears deceived me.)

"We poor shades,

you know, can only go where are our pictures. But, indeed, I scarcely regret his absence; the

duke has been little of a father to me since his unfortunate second marriage. Monstrous! that a man should be allowed to marry a chit of a girl younger than his three married daughters. Did you ever