named after different Royalist commanders: and though their contents had been nearly exhausted in celebrating the anniversaries of old victories, and drinking bumpers to King Charles and his mistresses, (who were numerous enough to occasion a rapid accumulation of empty bottles); the age and quality of such wines as yet remained rendered them a bonne bouche for the most critical Gourmet in exist

ence.

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Page!" said Sir Harcourt Slingsby, as he descended from his six-horsed calash, in which he sat most carefully upright, lest his capacious periwig should touch either side of the vehicle; "follow me up stairs, and see that my peruke be not disordered behind. There is a villainous and unfeeling wind abroad that cares not what mischief it makes among the most precious hair." At the door of the drawing-room, Sir Harcourt was assured by his attendant that every thing was in faultless order behind, when he examined himself in front by the assistance of a little pocket-mirror, which in those days had received the Dutch appellation of a sprunk

ing glass, and having corrected two or three hairs, and altered one plait of his point-lace frill, his page opened the door, and he swam into the apartment with a graceful corant slur and a coupée, diffusing a thousand rich odours around him as he advanced, bowing and bending in all the glory of smiles, brocade, embroidery, lace, gay garniture, and fluttering ribbons.

"Ah! my dear Sir Harcourt," cried Mrs. Chatsworth," you come most apropos to decide a bet between me and Lady Crockatt, who maintains that you lately sent fifty pieces to Flatman the poet, to liberate him from prison. This I knew to be impossible, because the fellow has so recently abused you in that scurrilous lampoon, which all your friends have of course read; if not, I can lend anybody my copy."

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May I be wrinkled, Madam, if I should have sent the dull rogue the moiety of a tester had he not libelled me, but as I suspect nothing can be more humiliating than to receive favours from those we have wantonly wronged, I horsewhipped his mind with fifty pieces of gold, which I consider a more painful infliction than

if I had laid as many stripes upon his back. It is always my way of revenging an injury."

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"That is so like you, Sir Harcourt,” cried Lady Crockatt, pleased at having won her wager; you always attribute a bad motive to your good actions, and are more ashamed of a virtue than others are of a vice. T'other day you were most eager to free yourself from the imputation of sobriety."

"Strike me stupid, Madam! if I could have explained myself properly. I plead guilty to all those virtues which gratify my inclination, but I disclaim any merit in merely doing that which gives me pleasure, and which I should not otherwise practice. Your ladyship will not find me deficient in any of the vices which are calculated to afford me the smallest delight, though I am a perfect saint in refraining from all those that I dislike."

"But surely there is a merit, Sir Harcourt, in being even constitutionally addicted to that which is noble, and feeling a natural antipathy to that which is base."

"Just the same, my dear Lady Crockatt,

that there is in liking one dish and disliking another. There is no merit except when we make our principles triumph over our inclinations; and may my periwig be soaked in a shower, if I can advance the smallest pretensions to this species of virtue! Sir Ambrose, this is pretty raised work on your Point d'Espagne; but the fashion is defunct; has been dead these six weeks-permit me-there is a loose hair upon your shoulder. Sweet snuff, too! your nose must be an antediluvian of three moons old, for so long has it been exploded. Taste mine: it is real Pongy-bongy."

"He who follows the fashion in these minor matters," said the sententious Sir Ambrose, "must chop and change with every veering variety of vanity. I have a real respect for your snuff, and indeed for that of all those who favour me with their friendship and their boxes; but at the same time, and without in any degree presuming to—”

"Oh, Sir Harcourt !" exclaimed Mrs. Chatsworth, interrupting the orator, "what divine

perfumes you always have; what is this delicious odour ?"

"Madam, I am the spurious issue of a vender of mouse-traps, if I can tell you; but people have such villainous pastiles and pomanders that I am obliged to defend myself as well as I can: my laced gloves are scented with amber and fleur d'orange, my handkerchief with musk and romagna, my point de Venice with frangipane and Neroly, and my periwig with a mixture of calembuc, jessamine, tuberose, and inarechal."

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Hey! whoop! stand aside," bawled the Squire as he entered the room, holding a bag in each hand, and followed by the blushing Emily." Look'ye, neighbour Goldingham, I promised to make a sportsman of you, and if you have any fancy to fight a main of cocks, I have brought a couple of the right sort to show you. There's a picture," he continued, taking one of the birds out of its bag: "feel his weight, see what a size he is, look at his comb and spur, and his lion's eye; there's a proper