f a fellow has wrote a
pastoral poem--all about shepherds and shepherdesses, you know."

"A shepherd should have a little crook," says my mistress, laughing from
her end of the table: on which Mrs. Steele said, "She did not know, but
the Captain brought home this queer little creature when she was in bed
with her first boy, and it was a mercy he had come no sooner; and Dick
raved about his genus, and was always raving about some nonsense or
other."

"Which of the 'Tatlers' do you prefer, Mrs. Steele?" asked Mr. St. John.

"I never read but one, and think it all a pack of rubbish, sir," says
the lady. "Such stuff about Bickerstaffe, and Distaff, and Quarterstaff,
as it all is! There's the Captain going on still with the Burgundy--I
know he'll be tipsy before he stops--Captain Steele!"

"I drink to your eyes, my dear," says the Captain, who seemed to think
his wife charming, and to receive as genuine all the satiric compliments
which Mr. St. John paid her.

All this while the Maid of Honor had been trying to get Mr. Esmond to
talk, and no doubt voted him a dull fellow. For, by some mistake, just
as he was going to pop into the vacant place, he was placed far away
from Beatrix's chair, who sat between his Grace and my Lord Ashburnham,
and shrugged her lovely white shoulders, and cast a look as if to say,
"Pity me," to her cousin. My Lord Duke and his young neighbor were
presently in a very animated and close conversation. Mrs. Beatrix could
no more help using her eyes than the sun can help shining, and setting
those it shines on a-burning. By the time the first course was done the
dinner seemed long to Esmond; by the time the soup came he fancied they
must have been hours at table: and as for the sweets and jellies he
thought they never would be done.

At length the ladies rose, Beatrix throwing a Parthian glance at her
duke as she retreated; a fresh bottle and glasses were fetched, and
toasts were called. Mr. St. John asked his Grace the Duke of Hamilton
and the company to drink to the health of his Grace the Duke of Brandon.
Another lord gave General Webb's health, "and may he get the command the
bravest officer in the world deserves." Mr. Webb thanked the company,
complimented his aide-de-camp, and fought his famous battle over again.

"Il est fatiguant," whispers Mr. St. John, "avec sa trompette de
Wynendael."

Captain Steele, who was not of our side, loyally gave the health of the
Duke of Marlborough, the gre