hampion 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 beast gave a spring and came slap on my
chest, with his dirty wet muzzle on my neck! I felt instantly it was the
death of my frill, but gallant as you know me, I still asked for the
lady. "If you will please, or an it meet your favour, to extend your hand
to me!" I confess I did think it rather odd, the idea of a lady coming in
that way over the palings! but my curst love of adventure always blinds
me. It always misleads my better sense, Harrington. Well, instead of a
lady, I see a fellow--he may have been a lineal descendant of Cedric the
Saxon. "Where's the lady?" says I. "Lady?" says he, and stares, and then
laughs: "Lady! why," he jumps over, and points at