not idle. Lord Charles Frobisher is already marking out a
race-course; Meek is exploring the political leaning of the borough; the
Kennyfecks are trying their voices together in every room of the house;
and Lady Janet has every _casserole_ in the kitchen engaged in the
preparation of various vegetable abominations which she and Sir Andrew
take before breakfast; and what with the taking down and putting up of
beds, the tuning of pianofortes, sol-fa-ing here, bells ringing there,
cracking of tandem whips, firing off percussion-caps, screaming to
grooms out of window, and slamming of doors, Babel was a scene of
peaceful retirement in comparison. As this, too, is but the beginning,
pray forgive me if my visits here be more frequent and enduring than
ever."

"Your picture of the company is certainly not flattering," said Mary.

"Up to their merits, notwithstanding; but how could it be otherwise? To
make a house pleasant, to bring agreeable people together,--to assemble
those particles whose aggregate solidifies into that compact mass called
society,--is far harder than is generally believed; vulgar folk attempt
it by getting some celebrity to visit them. But what a failure that
is! One lion will no more make a party than one swallow a summer. New
people, like our friend Cashel, try it by asking everybody. They hope,
by firing a heavy charge, that some of the shot will hit. Another
mistake! He little knows how many jealousies, rivalries, and small
animosities are now at breakfast together at his house, and how ready
they are, when no other game offers, to make him the object of all their
apite and scandal."

"But why?" said Mary. "Is not his hospitality as princely as it is
generously offered? Can they cavil with anything in either the reception
itself or the manner of it?"

"As that part of the entertainment entered into _my_ functions, Miss
Leicester, I should say, certainly not. The whole has been well 'got
up.' I can answer for everything save Cashel himself; as Curran said, 'I
can elevate all save the host.' He is irreclaimably _en arriere_,--half
dandy, half Delaware, affecting the man of fashion, but, at heart, a
prairie hunter."

"Hold, sir!" cried Cashel, entering suddenly, his face crimson with
passion. "By what right do you presume to speak of me in this wise?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" broke out Linton, as he fell into a chair in a burst of
admirably feigned laughter. "I told you, Miss Leicester, how it would
be; did