An old gentleman who filled in her family the office of “the _chevalier_” in a French one; namely, who told stories; not too long, and did not challenge you for interrupting them; who had a good air, and unexceptionable pedigree,--a turn for wit, literature, note-writing, and the management of lap-dogs; who could attend _Madame_ to auctions, plays, courts, and the puppet-show; who had a right to the best company, but would, on a signal, give up his seat to any one the pretty _capricieuse_ whom he served might select from the worst,--in short a very useful, charming personage, “vastly” liked by all, and “prodigiously” respected by none,--this gentleman, I say, by name Mr. Lovell, had attended her ladyship in her excursion to Devereux Court. Besides him there came also a widow lady, a distant relation, with one eye and a sharp tongue,--the Lady Needleham, whom the beauty carried about with her as a sort of _gouvernante_ or duenna. These excellent persons made my _compagnons de voyage_, and filled the remaining complements of the coach. To say truth, and to say nothing of my _tendresse_ for the Lady Hasselton, I was very anxious to escape the ridicule of crawling up to the town like a green beetle, in my uncle’s verdant chariot, with the four Flanders mares trained not to exceed two miles an hour. And my Lady Hasselton’s _private_ raileries--for she was really well bred, and made no jest of my uncle’s antiquities of taste, in his presence, at least--had considerably heightened my intuitive dislike to that mode of transporting myself to the metropolis. The day before my departure, Gerald, for the first time, spoke of it.
Glancing towards the mirror, which gave in full contrast the magnificent beauty of his person, and the smaller proportions and plainer features of my own, he said with a sneer, “Your appearance must create a wonderful sensation in town.”
“No doubt of it,” said I, taking his words literally, and arraying my laced cravat with the air of a _petit-maitre_.
“What a wit the Count has!” whispered the Duchess of Lackland, who had not yet given up all hope of the elder brother.
“Wit!” said the Lady Hasselton; “poor child, he is a perfect simpleton!”
THE MOTHER AND SON.--VIRTUE SHOULD BE THE SOVEREIGN OF THE FEELINGS, NOT THEIR DESTROYER.