d Saville, "of Clavers turning beau in his old
age! He commenced with being a jockey; then he became an electioneerer;
then a Methodist parson; then a builder of houses; and now he has dashed
suddenly up to London, rushed into the clubs, mounted a wig, studied an
ogle, and walks about the Opera House swinging a cane, and, at the age
of fifty-six, punching young minors in the side, and saying tremulously,
'_We_ young fellows!'"

"He hires pages to come to him in the Park with three-cornered notes,"
said Fanny, "he opens each with affected nonchalance; looks full at the
bearer; and cries aloud-'Tell your mistress I cannot refuse her:'--then
canters off, with the air of a man persecuted to death!"

"But did you see what an immense pair of whiskers Chester has mounted?"

"Yes," answered a Mr. De Lacy; "A---- says he has cultivated them in
order to 'plant out' his ugliness."

"But vy _you_ no talk, Monsieur de Dauphin?" said the Linettini gently,
turning to Percy; "you ver silent."

"Unhappily, I have been so long out of town that these anecdotes of the
day are caviare to me."

"But so," cried Saville, "would a volume of French Memoirs be to any
one that took it up for the first time; yet the French Memoirs amuse
one exactly as much as if one had lived with the persons written of.
Now that ought to be the case with conversations upon persons. I flatter
myself, Fanny, that you and I hit off characters so well by a word or
two, that no one who hears us wants to know anything more about them."

"I believe you," said Godolphin; "and that is the reason you never talk
of yourselves."

"Bah! Apropos of egoism, did you meet Jack Barabel in Rome?"

"Yes, writing his travels. 'Pray,' said he to me (seizing me by the
button) in the Coliseum, 'What do you think is the highest order of
literary composition?' 'Why, an epic, I fancy,' said I; 'or perhaps a
tragedy, or a great history, or a novel like Don Quixote.' 'Pooh!' quoth
Barabel, looking important, 'there's nothing so high in literature as a
good book of travels;' then sinking his voice into a whisper and laying
his finger wisely on his nose, he hissed out, 'I have a quarto, sir, in
the press!'"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Stracey, the old wit, picking his teeth, and speaking
for the first time; "if you tell Barabel you have seen a handsome
woman, he says, mysteriously frowning, 'Handsome, sir! has she
travelled?--answer me that!'"

"But have you seen Paulton's new equipage? Bro