"We hear that young Mr. Toler, the nephew of a high legal functionary, is about to lead to the altar the beautiful and accomplished Miss Bell, the daughter of a physician of eminence. We trust there is no fear of the changes being rung too often after the interesting ceremony is

over.'

"There are many more," she asserted, "in the same strain."

But O'Conor's indignation could not any longer be suppressed. He snatched the paper from the reader, and flung it on the table, to the great amusement of the young lady, who expressed her satisfaction that one knight-errant, at least, was left to protect insulted spinsters.

"But," added she, bursting into a laugh, "you might have spared all your chivalrous indignation, for the entire was a myth of mine own invention."

The servant here entered, and laid on the table cards of invitation from Sir Simeon and Lady Bradshaw for a concert, fixed for the Monday week following.

"We must go, by all means, Ierne," said her sister; "though concerts are in general stupid things enough, I expect we shall have great amusement there. In the first place, Lady Bradshaw will play and sing herself; that alone is a fund of amusement. She murders music more effectually than ever Macbeth did sleep;

then we shall have Incledon and Mrs. Mountain there; they arrived with Munden a few days since. They were near being lost in the Bay. The vessel was for four hours on her beam-end, whatever end that is. Incledon was flung out among the rigging, which was floating on the waves, singing, I suppose, his favourite song, 'Cease, rude Boreas.' We shall there also see the Fitz-Edward' and Madame Fitz-Edward. They have just come from France-how, no one knows. They say she is beautiful, and speaks broken English delightfully. fourthly, we shall have let me see

6

"Richard Fitzmaurice," said Ierne.

And

"Con

fess, Eliza, that though last on your list, he is not so in your expectations."

This was the first check Eliza's tongue had met with. It stopped her outpourings for a minute or two, while something of a suffused colour came over her face, and a little embarrassment over her manner. She, however, soon got over it.

"Oh," said she, "I think there is a fund of amusement in Sir Simeon and Lady Bradshaw. I must tell you a good story of them. You know she is constantly embellishing her conversation with boarding-school French, having been for some time at what they call a "ladies' seminary' at Liverpool, of which, notwithstanding, she has no more idea than of music. After Sir Simeon

had been knighted, having been one of the City sheriffs that proceeded with the deputation to congratulate the King on his recovery, they went to Paris before the war broke out. They took a suite of apartments at the Hotel D. The next morning she sent for a carriage, and went shopping and to look for a French maid to fetch over pour dresser ses chevaux, as she expresses it, leaving Sir Simeon at breakfast. On getting into her carriage, she desired the garçon on no account permettre sortir le fou dans le salon. The garçon, to make matters sure, went quietly upstairs, and locking the door, put the key into his pocket. In a little time, the bell rang furiously, whereupon, going up, he asked, Vat vas de matter?'-'What the vengeance, man,' roared out Sir Simeon, 'have you locked the door for?'

To keep de fou from going out,' said the waiter; 'your madame desire not by no mean to let you go out, and dere you must stay.' Sir Simeon got furious, and threatened to smash the door with the poker, and everything in the room, if not instantly let out. The Maîtred'hôtel being informed that there was a mad Irishman above, smashing the furniture, sent for the Maréchaussée, and poor Sir Simeon only escaped being hauled off to a lock-up house by the return of his lady, who explained that it was not the High-Sheriff of Dublin she wanted to be kept from going out, but the fire-an ex

planation full as unintelligible to the Frenchmen as the original misconception."

"They tell numerous stories," said O'Conor, "not only of Lady Bradshaw's strangulations of the French, but of her contortions of her own language. She is, however, to be forgiven all her malaprops for the admirable designation she gives her lord and master in company. She always calls him, par élégance, Sir Simian."

"Poor man," said Eliza; "I suppose it is something connected with that name that makes her so constantly wish him at the Antipopes when he vexes her. She has also a habit of parting her servants her servants when they don't shute her, as unmercifully, as of cutting all vulgar acquaintances. She told me she was obliged to part her laundry-maid for not wrenching out the clothes better than she did, and her footman for bringing her cards of invitation to houses not directed to, he being unable to read her handwriting, and for not taking up to her the answers seeking explanation. In company, however, her contortions are not confined to her phraseology. Her company voice," she continued, "is amusing enough, which she always puts on in the presence of persons beyond the ordinary range of her acquaintance, and which, from the various contortions and twistings of the mouth which it undergoes in the delivery,

showing off, however, a very good set of teeth and dimples, is evidently not of every-day usage."

She was preparing to give some further instances of her ladyship's peculiarities, when a carriage drove rapidly up to the door and came to a stop; on running to the window,

"I declare," she exclaimed, "who could have thought it? It is no other than Lady Bradshaw herself, come, like the ghost of Cæsar, to upbraid us with our ingratitude, after sending us tickets for her concert."

"I can't congratulate you on your simile," said O'Conor; "she hasn't much the look of a ghost."

While her ladyship is ascending, we must take the liberty of saying a few words on her whereabouts.

She was the eldest of the two daughters of a rich salesmaster of Smithfield, who had begun life as a cattle-jobber, and eventually, from taking Government contracts for pork, had amassed a plum, which he left between his daughters; the eldest, Arabella, bestowed her hand and demiplum on Simeon Bradshaw, a drysalter in Fleetstreet; and the younger sister dying unmarried, she came in for the residue of the golden fruit. On the accession of this large fortune Simeon got with his wife, he became a common-councilman, and eventually an alderman of the City,