"Et vous n'avons pas des plus beaux chambres ?" demanded Mrs. Roberts, still frowning.

"Non, madame," replied the girl, with that stoical indifference to her queer French, which seems so universally to preclude the possibility of a laugh among our polite neighbours.

"Il faut que vous sait," resumed Mrs. Roberts, "que nous suis accoutumés à avoir la meilleur de tout les choses quand nous suis au logis."

"Oui, madame," replied the girl, without moving a muscle.

"It is no good, mamma, to talk any more to her-she's a fool," said Miss Maria. "But I wish you would tell me how long we are to be without our carpet-bags. Just look at my hair! I am in perfect misery for want of a comb! And, do see, there is not a morsel of soap to wash our hands. When are we to have our carpet-bags, mamma ?" "How in the world can I tell, Maria?" replied her mother. "The man that brought us here said ten minutes; but I fancy we must never believe a word they say to us. They are a horrible set of liars you may depend upon it."

"But we must get the carpet-bags somehow or other, mamma,' said Agatha. "Do let us go down stairs, will you, to inquire about

them ?"

And down stairs again they went, Mrs. Roberts talking exceedingly loud the whole time concerning the dreadful inferiority of the French to the English nation in all respects; which, considering that the language in which she spoke, was considerably more likely to be understood than her French had been, was both imprudent and uncivil, to say the least of it.

On entering the large salle à manger, where a servant was preparing a part of the table for their supper, Mrs. Roberts attacked him in her piebald jargon, with inquiries concerning the greatly-wanted carpetbags. The man, with the uniform civility of his class, strained every faculty to understand her, and when at length she fortunately substituted the words "carpet-bags" for "bags de tapis," he caught her meaning, and replied that if she had left her bags with their commissionaire, à coup sur she would have them in a few minutes.

"What does he say about coosin ?" demanded Mrs. Roberts, addressing her eldest daughter. "Who is coosin? What stupid plagues they are!"

Miss Agatha explained very distinctly what the man had said, and then replied to it by telling him that they had not left their keys; upon which, with all possible civility, the man told her that there was not the slightest chance that their bags would be sent to them at all.

"Do you hear him, mamma?" exclaimed both the girls at once. "Good Heaven! what are we to do?" "Why,

"Do?" returned Mrs. Roberts, looking exceedingly angry. of course your father must go this moment to the custom-house with the keys. What a shame it is to keep one's things from one in such an abominable manner! Pretty sort of freedom isn't it? But you must go, my dear, this very moment, you must, indeed, for I shall want to go to bed the very instant I have supped, and I leave you to guess if I can go to bed without my night-bag, Mr. Roberts."

66

No, my dear," replied her husband, "I dare say you can't-only

I should be very glad if I could get a morsel to eat first, for I really do feel quite exhausted."

"Very well, Mr. Roberts, then you must eat of course, and I must go. I wonder if I shall find Stephen too exhausted to go with me?" "That's talking quite wild, my dear," returned her husband, taking up his hat and stick and preparing to depart; "I didn't mean, I am sure, to put any thing off upon you; but I must have somebody to show me the way, and, after all, I am afraid I shall make but a bad hand of it, seeing that I don't understand one word of French."

"Good gracious, Mr. Roberts! How you do love to make difficulties! Of course the people will speak English at the custom-house. All you have to do is just to take Stephen with you to bring the bags, and to get a lad to show you the way. Give your keys, girls-and yours, Edward-here's mine-I dare say you will be back before the supper is ready. Taking Stephen will make a difference, you may depend upon it; there was nobody on board that had such a stylish servant, and you may be sure that when they see he belongs to you, our business will be attended to first. It is the way of the world, my dear, take my word for it."

As she spoke, Mrs. Roberts rang the bell; Stephen was summoned, and a man found to show the way.

"Now then," said she, "make haste, there's a good man, and I'll take care you shall have a good supper when you come back again."

Either poor Mr. Roberts was unskilful in the performance of his task, or the appearance of Stephen produced a less imposing effect than his mistress expected, for the very last bags examined were those of the Roberts family. It is possible, indeed, that the circumstance of of their being the only ones left to the care of the owners, without any patronizing assistance from an hôtel commissionaire, might be the cause of this; but certain it is, that instead of coming back directly, the unfortunate Mr. Roberts did not make his appearance for nearly two hours. The worthy man sighed when he found that his family had finished their repast, and the remnants of the supper which were brought back to him might have been eaten, perhaps, with more relish had not the weary ladies each seized upon a bag, the instant they greeted their longing eyes, declaring that they could not remain up an instant longer to obtain the universe.

*

Here is one fytte of Robert's pilgrimage;

Ye who of him may further seek to know,
Shall find some tidings in a future page,
If he that writeth now may scribble moe.

THE PARTIE FINE.

BY LANCELOT WAGSTAFF, ESQ.

COLONEL GOLLOP's dinner in Harley-street (the colonel is an EastIndia director, and his Mulligatawney the best out of Bengal) was just put off, much to my disappointment, for I had no other engagement; Mrs. Wagstaff was out of town with her mother at Bognor; and my clothes had been brought down to the club to dress--all to no purpose.

I was disconsolately looking over the bill of fare, and debating between Irish stew, and the thirteenth cut at a leg of lamb (of which seven barristers had partaken, each with his half pint of Marsala), when Jiggins, the waiter, brought me in a card, saying that the gentleman was in the hall, and wished to see me.

The card was Fitzsimons's;-a worthy fellow, as I dare say my reader knows. I went out to speak to him. "Perhaps," thought I," he is going to ask me to dine."

There was something particularly splendid in Fitz's appearance, as I saw at a glance. He had on a new blue-and-white silk neckcloth, so new that it had never been hemmed; his great gold jack-chain, as I call it, was displayed across his breast, showing off itself and a laceruffle a great deal too ostentatiously, as I thought. He had lemoncoloured gloves; French polished boots, with deuced high heels; his hair curled (it is red, but oils to a mahogany colour); his hat extremely on one side; and his moustache lacquered up with, I do believe, the very same varnish which he puts to his boots. I hate those varnished boots, except for moderns, and Fitz is three-and-forty if he is a day.

However, there he stood, whipping his lacquered boots with a goldheaded stick, whistling, twirling his moustache, pulling up his shirtcollar, and giving himself confoundedly dandified airs in a word, before the hall-porter and the club message-boy in brass buttons.

"Wagstaff, my boy," says he, holding out a kid glove, in a most condescending manner, "I have something to propose to you." "What is it, and what's your hour?" said I, quite playfully. "You've guessed it at once," answered he. "A dinner is what I mean-Mrs. Wagstaff is out of town, and—”

Here he whispered me.

*

But

Well? why not?-After all there may be some very good fun. If my mother-in-law heard of it she would be sure to make a row. she is safe at Bognor (may she stay there for ever!). It is much better that I should have some agreeable society than dine alone at the club, after the seven barristers on the leg of lamb. Of course it was not to be an expensive dinner-of course not, Fitzsimons said—no more it was to him-hang him-as you shall hear.

It was agreed that the dinner-hour should be seven: the place, Durognon's in the Haymarket; and as I rather pique myself on ordering a French dinner, that matter was to be consigned to me. I walked down to Durognon's, looked at the room, and ordered the dinner for four sons-the man asked how much champagne should be put in ice? which I considered rather a leading question, and giving a vague sort of reply to this (for I determined that Fitzsimons should treat us to as

per

st

much as he liked), I walked away to while away the hour before dinner.

After all, I thought, I may as well dress: the things are ready at the club, and a man is right to give himself every personal advantage, especially when he is going to dine with-with LADIES. There the secret is out. Fitz has invited me to make a fourth in a petit diner given to Madame Nelval of the French theatre, and her friend Mademoiselle Delval. I had seen Madame Nelval from a side-box a few evenings before-and, parbleu, homo sum; I meant no harm; Gollop's dinner was off; Mrs. Wagstaff was out of town; and I confess I was very glad to have an opportunity of meeting this fascinating actress, and keeping up my French. So I dressed, and at seven o'clock walked back to Durognon's: whither it was agreed that Fitz was to bring the ladies in his Brougham; -the deuce knows how he gets the money to pay for it by the way, or to indulge in a hundred other expenses far beyond any moderate man's means.

As the St. James's clock struck seven, a gentleman-past the period of extreme youth it is true, but exhibiting a remarkably elegant person stil! in a very becoming costume, might have been seen walking by London House, and turning down Charles-street to the Haymarket. This individual, I need not say, was myself. I had done my white tie to a nicety, and could not help saying, as I gazed for a moment in the great glass in the club drawing-room-" Corbleu, Wagstaff, you are still as distingué a looking fellow as any in London." How women can admire that odious Fitzsimons on account of his dyed mustaches, I for one never could understand.

The dinner-table at Durognon's made a neat and hospitable appearance; the plated candlesticks were not more coppery than such goods usually are at taverns; the works of art on the wall were of tolerable merit; the window-curtains, partially drawn, yet allowed the occupant of the room to have a glimpse of the cab-stand opposite, and I seated myself close to the casement, as they say in the novels, awaiting Captain Fitzsimons's arrival with the two ladies.

I waited for some time-the cabs on the stand disappeared from the rank, plunged rattling into the mighty vortex of London, and were replaced by other cabs. The sun, which had set somewhere behind Piccadilly, was now replaced by the lustrous moon, the gas lamps, and the red and blue orbs that flared in the windows of the chemist opposite. Time passed on, but no Fitzsimons's Brougham made its appearance. I read the evening paper, half an hour was gone and no company come. At last, as the opera carriages actually began to thunder down the street," a hand was on my shoulder," as the member for Pontefract sings. I turned round suddenly from my reverie-that hand, that yellow-kid-glove-covered hand was Fitzsimons's.

"Come along, my boy," says he, "we will go fetch the ladies-they live in Bury-street, only three minutes walk."

I go to Bury-street? I be seen walking through St. James's-square, giving an arm to any other lady in Europe but my Arabella, my wife, Mrs. Wagstaff? Suppose her uncle, the dean, is going to dine at the bishop's, and should see me?-me, walking with a French lady, in three quarters of a bonnet! I should like to know what an opinion he would have of me, and where his money in the funds would go to?

"No," says I," my dear Fitzsimons, a joke is a joke, and I am not

more straight-laced than another; but the idea that Mr. Lancelot Wagstaff should be seen walking in St. James's-square with a young French actress, is a little too absurd. It would be all over the city tomorrow, and Arabella would tear my eyes out."

"You shan't walk with a French actress," said Fitz. "You shall give your arm to as respectable a woman as any in Baker-street-[ pledge you my honour of this-Madame la Baronne de Saint Ménéhould, the widow of a General of the Empire-connected with the first people in France. Do you mean to say that she is not equal to any of your sugar-baking family?" I passed over Fitz's sneer regarding my family; and as it was a baroness, of course agreed to walk with Fitzsimons in search of the ladies.

"I thought you said Madame Delval this morning," said I.

66

Oh, the baroness is coming too," answered Fitzsimons, and ordered a fifth cover to be laid. We walked to Bury-street, and presently after a great deal of chattering and clapping of doors and drawers, three ladies made their appearance in the drawing-room, and having gone through the ceremony of an introduction in an entire state of darkness, the order of march was given. I offered my arm to the Baroness de Saint Ménéhould, Fitz leading the way with the other two ladies.

We walked down Jermyn-street; my heart thumped with some uneasiness as we crossed by the gambling-house in Waterloo-place, lest any one should see me. There is a strong gas-lamp there, and I looked for the first time at my portly companion. She was fifty-five if a day-five years older than that Fitzsimons. This eased me, but somehow it didn't please me. I can walk with a woman of five-andfifty any day-there's my mother-in-law, my aunts, and the deuce knows how many more I could mention. But I was consoled by the baroness presently saying, that she should, from my accent, have mistaken me for a Frenchman-a great compliment to a man who has been in Paris but once, and learned the language from a Scotch usher, never mind how many years ago, at Mr. Lord's academy, Tooting, Surrey.

But I adore Paul de Kock's novels, and have studied them so rapturously, that no wonder I should have made a proficiency in the language. Indeed, Arabella has often expressed herself quite jealous as I lay on the sofa of an evening, laughing my waistcoat-strings off, over his delightful pages. (The dear creature is not herself very familiar with the language, and sings Fluve dew Tage, Partong pour Syrie, &c., with the most confirmed Clapham accent.) I say she has often confessed herself to be jealous of the effect produced on my mind by this dear, delightful, wicked, odious, fascinating writer, whose pictures of French society are so admirably ludicrous. It was through Paul de Kock that I longed to know something about Parisian life, and those charming sémillantes, frétillantes, pétillantes grisettes, whose manners he describes. "Its Paul de Kock in London by Jove," said I to myself, when Fitz proposed the little dinner to me; I shall see all their ways and their fun"-And that was the reason why, as Mrs. Wagstaff was out of town, I accepted the invitation so cordially.

Well; we arrived at Durognon's at a quarter-past eight, we five, and were ushered at length into the dining-room, where the ladies flung off their cloaks and bonnets, and I had an opportunity of seeing their faces completely.

Madame Nelval's was as charming a face as I ever looked upon;