to time at that apprehensive lady, doating on her terrors.  And Mr. George seconded her by his clouded face, for he was ashamed not to show that he did not know Louisa Harrington in the Countess de Saldar, and had not the courage to declare that he did.  The Countess spoke familiarly, but without any hint of an ancient acquaintance between them.  ’What a post her husband’s got!’ thought Mr. George, not envying the Count.  He was wrong:  she was an admirable ally.  All over the field the Countess went, watching for her mother, praying that if she did come, Providence might prevent her from coming while they were at dinner.  How clearly Mrs. Shorne and Mrs. Melville saw her vulgarity now!  By the new light of knowledge, how certain they were that they had seen her ungentle training in a dozen little instances.

’She is not well-bred, ‘cela se voit’,’ said Lady Jocelyn.

‘Bred! it’s the stage!  How could such a person be bred?’ said Mrs. Shorne.

Accept in the Countess the heroine who is combating class-prejudices, and surely she is pre-eminently noteworthy.  True, she fights only for her family, and is virtually the champion of the opposing institution misplaced.  That does not matter:  the Fates may have done it purposely:  by conquering she establishes a principle.  A Duke adores her sister, the daughter of the house her brother, and for herself she has many protestations in honour of her charms:  nor are they empty ones.  She can confound Mrs. Melville, if she pleases to, by exposing an adorer to lose a friend.  Issuing out of Tailordom, she, a Countess, has done all this; and it were enough to make her glow, did not little evils, and angers, and spites, and alarms so frightfully beset her.

The sun of the pic-nic system is dinner.  Hence philosophers may deduce that the pic-nic is a British invention.  There is no doubt that we do not shine at the pic-nic until we reflect the face of dinner.  To this, then, all who were not lovers began seriously to look forward, and the advance of an excellent county band, specially hired to play during the entertainment, gave many of the guests quite a new taste for sweet music; and indeed we all enjoy a thing infinitely more when we see its meaning.

About this time Evan entered the lower park-gates with Andrew.  The first object he encountered was John Raikes in a state of great depression.  He explained his case: 

’Just look at my frill!  Now, upon my honour, you know, I’m good-tempered; I pass their bucolic habits, but this is beyond bearing.  I was near the palings there, and a fellow calls out, “Hi! will you help the lady over?” Holloa! thinks I, an adventure!  However, I advised him to take her round to the gates.  The beast burst out laughing.  “Now, then,” says he, and I heard a scrambling at the pales, and up came the head of a dog.  “Oh! the dog first,” says I.  “Catch by the ears,” says he.  I did so.  “Pull,” says he. “’Gad, pull indeed!”, The