charge of ten thousand dragoons, was silenced—­the pit appeared impassable.  Did the Countess crow over her advantage?  Mark her:  the lady’s face is entirely given up to partridges.  ’English sports are so much envied abroad,’ she says:  but what she dreads is a reflection, for that leads off from the point.  A portion of her mind she keeps to combat them in Lady Jocelyn and others who have the tendency:  the rest she divides between internal-prayers for succour, and casting about for another popular subject to follow partridges.  Now, mere talent, as critics say when they are lighting candles round a genius, mere talent would have hit upon pheasants as the natural sequitur, and then diverged to sports—­a great theme, for it ensures a chorus of sneers at foreigners, and so on probably to a discussion of birds and beasts best adapted to enrapture the palate of man.  Stories may succeed, but they are doubtful, and not to be trusted, coming after cookery.  After an exciting subject which has made the general tongue to wag, and just enough heated the brain to cause it to cry out for spiced food—­then start your story:  taking care that it be mild; for one too marvellous stops the tide, the sense of climax being strongly implanted in all bosoms.  So the Countess told an anecdote—­one of Mel’s.  Mr. George Uplift was quite familiar with it, and knew of one passage that would have abashed him to relate ’before ladies.’  The sylph-like ease with which the Countess floated over this foul abysm was miraculous.  Mr. George screwed his eye-lids queerly, and closed his jaws with a report, completely beaten.  The anecdote was of the character of an apologue, and pertained to game.  This was, as it happened, a misfortune; for Mr. Raikes had felt himself left behind by the subject; and the stuff that was in this young man being naturally ebullient, he lay by to trip it, and take a lead.  His remarks brought on him a shrewd cut from the Countess, which made matters worse; for a pun may also breed puns, as doth an anecdote.  The Countess’s stroke was so neat and perfect that it was something for the gentlemen to think over; and to punish her for giving way to her cleverness and to petty vexation, ‘Hem!’ sounded once more, and then:  ’May I ask you if the present Baronet is in England?’

Now Lady Jocelyn perceived that some attack was directed against her guest.  She allowed the Countess to answer: 

‘The eldest was drowned in the Lisbon waters’

And then said:  ’But who is it that persists in serving up the funeral baked meats to us?’

Mrs. Shorne spoke for her neighbour:  ’Mr. Farnley’s cousin was the steward of Sir Abraham Harrington’s estates.’

The Countess held up her head boldly.  There is a courageous exaltation of the nerves known to heroes and great generals in action when they feel sure that resources within themselves will spring up to the emergency, and that over simple mortals success is positive.