s to her spaniel, "you have
almost crushed my poor foot;" or, "Frank," to her husband, "bring me a
footstool:" or, "I suffer so from cold in the feet," and so forth; but
be the conversation what it will, she is always sure to put HER FOOT
into it.

She invariably wears on her neck the miniature of her late father, Sir
George Catacomb, apothecary to George III.; and she thinks those two men
the greatest the world ever saw. She was born in Baker Street, Portman
Square, and that is saying almost enough of her. She is as long, as
genteel, and as dreary, as that deadly-lively place, and sports, by
way of ornament, her papa's hatchment, as it were, as every tenth Baker
Street house has taught her.

What induced such a jolly fellow as Frank Berry to marry Miss Angelica
Catacomb no one can tell. He met her, he says, at a ball at Hampton
Court, where his regiment was quartered, and where, to this day, lives
"her aunt Lady Pash." She alludes perpetually in conversation to that
celebrated lady; and if you look in the "Baronetage" to the pedigree
of the Pash family, you may see manuscript notes by Mrs. Frank Berry,
relative to them and herself. Thus, when you see in print that Sir John
Pash married Angelica, daughter of Graves Catacomb, Esquire, in a neat
hand you find written, AND SISTER OF THE LATE SIR GEORGE CATACOMB, OF
BAKER STREET, PORTMAN SQUARE: "A.B." follows of course. It is a wonder
how fond ladies are of writing in books, and signing their charming
initials! Mrs. Berry's before-mentioned little gilt books are scored
with pencil-marks, or occasionally at the margin with a!--note of
interjection, or the words "TOO TRUE, A.B." and so on. Much may be
learned with regard to lovely woman by a look at the books she reads in;
and I had gained no inconsiderable knowledge of Mrs. Berry by the ten
minutes spent in the drawing-room, while she was at her toilet in the
adjoining bedchamber.

"You have often heard me talk of George Fitz," says Berry, with an
appealing look to madame.

"Very often," answered his lady, in a tone which clearly meant "a great
deal too much." "Pray, sir," continued she, looking at my boots with all
her might, "are we to have your company at dinner?"

"Of course you are, my dear; what else do you think he came for? You
would not have the man go back to Paris to get his evening coat, would
you?"

"At least, my love, I hope you will go and put on YOURS, and change
those muddy boots. Lady Pash will be