could have committed, was silent
and confused.

"Are you afraid, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Kennyfeck, to show that all
other objections might be waived.

"Oh no, mamma, if you are not."

"The ponies are perfectly quiet," said Linton.

"I 'm certain nothing will happen," said Miss Kennyfeck, with a most
significant glance at her sister.

"Take care of her, Mr. Cashel," said the mamma, as Roland handed the
blushing girl to her place. "I have never trusted her in any one's
charge before; and if I had not such implicit confidence--" Before the
sentence was finished, the ponies sprang forward in a trot, the equipage
in a moment fled and disappeared from view.

"A fine young fellow he seems to be," said Linton, as he raised his hat
in adieu; "and so frank, too!" There was a something in his smile that
looked too intelligent, but Mrs. Kennyfeck affected not to notice it, as
she said "Good-bye."

CHAPTER XII. THE GREAT KENNYFECK DINNER.

There were lords and ladies,--I saw myself,--
A duke with his Garter, a knight with his Gaelph.
"Orders"--as bright as the eye could see,
The "Golden Fleece," and the "Saint Esprit;"
Black Eagles, and Lions, and even a Lamb,
Such an odd-looking thing--from the great "Nizam;"
Shamrocks and Thistles there were in a heap,
And the Legion of Honor from "Louis Philippe,"
So I asked myself--Does it not seem queer,
What can bring this goodly company here?

Mrs. Thorpe's Fete at Twickenham

Although Mrs. Kennyfeck's company were invited for seven o'clock, it
was already something more than half-past ere the first guest made
his appearance, and he found himself alone in the drawing-room; Mrs.
Kennyfeck, who was a very shrewd observer of everything in high life,
having remembered that it twice occurred to herself and Mr. K. to have
arrived the first at the Secretary's "Lodge," in the Park, and that the
noble hostess did not descend till at least some two or three others had
joined them.

The "first man" to a dinner is the next most miserable thing to the
"last man" at leaving it. The cold air of solitude, the awkwardness of
seeming too eager to be punctual, the certainty, almost inevitable, that
the next person who arrives is perfectly odious to you, and that you
will have to sustain a _tete-a-tete_ with the man of all others you
dislike,--all these are the agreeables of the first man; but he who now
had to sustain them was, hap