"Let me see, at any rate."

Mason was right. The few evening dresses remaining of a once well-furnished wardrobe, were quite impracticable, for they were coloured, and Miss Moubray was still in slight mourning.

"Then I suppose I shall be obliged to come in, as good children do, with the dessert; or make my first appearance in the drawing-room like a governess, or young lady, not yet out of the school-room; unless, indeed, I wear my old black crape; and perhaps that will be the best plan, although it is dreadfully shabby and unbecoming. Oh! here is my dress. Come, Mason,-quick,-that will do. How lucky

that it fits so well. I wonder who it is that came so early. Mr. Wickham, I suppose."

Mr. Wickham was an admirer of Miss Moubray's, in a quiet sort of way, and rather a favourite.

"Well, Cecil," said her uncle, kindly, as she entered the drawing-room, "I told you, you would be late. However, as you are not often unpunctual, I must not scold you. Lord St.

Maur, allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Moubray."

Cecil was in high beauty dress became her, -the little toilette trepidation had heightened her complexion, and General Moubray's look and manner plainly spoke his sense of his niece's loveliness. But in this opinion Lord St. Maur evidently did not agree, for, notwithstanding the habit of controlling and concealing the emotions exercised by all who mix in general society, the most indifferent bystander must have perceived, from the sudden change in his countenance, that his introduction to his beautiful

gave rise to feelings which were anything but pleasing. He recovered himself, however, and, after addressing a few common-place remarks to her, recommenced the conversation which had been interrupted; while Cecil betook herself to the sofa, where she sat, feeling excessively uncomfortable, and wondering why Mrs. Hartfield did not come.

Knock succeeded to knock, gentleman after

VOL.I.

D

gentleman was ushered into the room, and still she sat in solitary grandeur. All the guests, with the exception of Mr. Wickham and Sir John Thornton, were strangers to her, and retreated to the other end of the apartment the moment the necessary introduction was over. Of Sir John, there was no hope. General Fielding had seized upon him, and they were deeply engaged in a political discussion; but Wickham, Cecil thought, ought to have known better, and she determined to punish him for his inattention by being extremely cold and distant at his next morning visit.

Hopes of future revenge, however, afforded no present relief; and, almost driven to despair, our heroine at last resolved to open a communication with Lord St. Maur, who was standing midway between her and the fire, apparently wholly indifferent to the scene around him.

Accordingly, the Earl was informed, "that the day had been fine, and Miss Moubray agreeably surprised in the climate of England."

But he either did not hear or did not heed the interesting intelligence; and Cecil was too much discouraged to repeat her remark.

Soon after, Caroline, the long expected Caroline, entered the room, with Elizabeth on her arm, and followed, not by her husband, but by Henry Armstrong, who, in fact, had been the cause of the delay. Mr. Hartfield was either indisposed or lazy, and Henry, who had arrived rather suddenly from the continent, was too happy to take his place.

According to the most approved rule and general practice in novel writing, I believe I ought to give a full and particular account of all that was done, said, or eaten, at the dinner table, over which Cecil presided, with an accurate description of the several guests who graced the board. This is certainly an admirable plan for filling a book; nevertheless, I feel greatly inclined to leave these interesting details to the imagination of my reader, merely premising, that, with the exception of being less numerous,

perhaps, the party was precisely such an one as the last at which he assisted; for I do believe there is nothing in the whole world more monotonous than dinner parties.

"When I was in England," I once heard a French lady say, "although I dined in several different houses, I was as certain of my dinner as if I had ordered it; for I invariably found the same dishes on every table." She might have added-"and the same guests, too;" for, with the exception of the difference of names, (and what is in a name?) the dinner company in one house is precisely the dinner company in another.

A few elderly gentlemen who sit at the head of the table, as many dowagers near the foot, one or two young ladies in the middle, and several young men to fill up the interstices. Reader, is not this a fac simile of your last dinner party? And need I tell you, in addition, that, at the entertainment I am describing, the wines were excellent, the dishes well dressed; that Henry Armstrong was in unusually high spirits, and