"And what sad accident, may I ask," she said, "has retarded the advent of Sir Piercie Shafton?" "Fairest damsel of Ind," returned Peregrine;

แ no

accident to this vile tenement hath befallen your adoring slave, who liveth like the violet of Humility, cherished only by the sun of your condescension. You shall be my Condescension, and I your Humility, fairest of all the damsels of Ind."

"But what rude blast of adversity," asked Augusta, "hath blown upon my poor Humility, that he hath thus kept his anxious Condescension, during at least half a circle of the horologe, in all the torments of protracted suspense?"

"Sweetest lady, what bliss most exquisite were any suffering to this vile clay, or even to the etherial anima or spirit of your Humility, which eliciteth from my adored Condescension such tender expressions of sympathetic benignity. Believe me, most bountiful damsel, that I would hither have flown on wings Æolian, had it been permitted to this sordid corporeal substance, now only valuable as regarded by thee, to take any such aërial excursion. The culpability of another grovelling hath cast these chains upon the eager limbs of my activity. A gross earth-born varlet of an apparelmaker, or habiliment-designer, called by the uncourtly a tailor, hath done unto me this injury, by driving the insignificant gadfly sting of his annoyance into the noble animal back of my patience, and at the hora undecima, or eleventh hour of my love

fledged expectations, I discovered the incompleteness of my terpsicorean attire, and was constrained into a cunctatorial obedience to the behests of inevitable fate. Do the mild rays of my Condescension's forgiveness shine upon the nipped flower of her poor Humility's contrition?"

"Oh! quite, quite. I quite forgive you my→ dear me! I have forgotten my Euphuism: but suppose that we both of us forget it, for it must be troublesome to keep it up. Your dress is admirable though, I must say."

"Thanks to you and your kind aunt," said Peregrine," for these exquisite ruffles and favours."

"Oh! do not mention it," said Augusta, "and my part, I assure you, was very small, my aunt made the greater part of them. By the bye, I must tell you, that all my friends have been expressing their unbounded astonishment at seeing me in this very homely dress. It was such fun, such excellent fun, to hear one of them asking after Mother Hubbard, another after Rebecca-well, I see the quadrille is forming; let us go and ask Mary Ann Dew if she will be our vis-à-vis. By the bye, there is Mr. Drawlincourt, he did bore me so to dance the first set with him in your absence. I think you know him-do you not?"

66

Very well-very well indeed,"-returned Peregrine; " by Jupiter, that is the very dress, in which I horse-"

"In which you what?”

"Nothing," returned Peregrine.

"Oh! go on, pray; he is no favourite of mine, and I shall be angry if you do not tell me."

"In which I horse-whipped him, then," said Peregrine.

Augusta Sweetenham laughed, and liked Peregrine all the better for the confession.

They stood up to dance, or to walk through a quadrille; and a very animated conversation ensued. What it was we shall not narrate-suffice it that when the "set" was over, Peregrine led Augusta back to her aunt, and in a minute, the three were to be seen, to the great astonishment of all lookerson, walking together towards the entrance door, and passing down the broad staircase. It was evident that Mrs. and Miss Sweetenham were, thus early, going home again.

CHAPTER XII.

Containing some further Account of the Fancy Ball, and of Peregrine's Misconduct.

"WHAT have you done with Miss Sweetenham, my dear fellow?" asked Frederick Splashington of Peregrine Pultuney, a few minutes after the return of that young gentleman to the ball-room.

"I saw

her with you a moment ago, and now she is no where visible."

"She has gone home, I believe," said Peregrine.

"Gone home! Il n'est pas possible! at this early hour-just after the second set. I hope she is not indisposed?"

"I believe not," returned Peregrine.

"Perhaps only degoûtée a little. My dear Pultuney, you are a very sad fellow-a very sad fellow, indeed. I told you how matters would end-all Calcutta are talking about you, c'est vrai.”

"Let them talk then," said Peregrine.

No-no-my good fellow, let them not talklet us try and put a stop to their talking, c'est une vilaine chose, this eternal talking about Miss Sweetenham and you. The lady has not been gone five minutes, and yet I have heard—I do not know how many things I have heard said already about the cause of her sudden departure. Some say that you have just proposed to her, and that she has gone away to conceal her agitation. Others say, that you have been cross to her, and have dashed her spirits for the rest of the evening. Another report is, that having danced with you, she does not care about dancing with any body else, and has nothing to look forward to for all the rest of the evening. Fifty other things have been said too, I have no doubt-all equally absurd and ill-natured.”

"I cannot say," returned Peregrine, "that I should much care if five hundred things of that kind were said about us."

"But you ought to care, my dear fellow; indeed you ought. I am afraid it is of no use to talk to you, but I will, nevertheless, make one more effort to impress upon you the necessity of doing something or other to put a stop to these reports."

"Je ne vois pas la nécessité," interrupted Peregrine, with a sneer.

"Ah!" said Splashington, with most praiseworthy good temper, passing his arm through Pegrine's as he spoke; "do you remember by whom and on what occasion those words were once em