n, a year or two afterwards, he came upon the
world, yet a mere boy, and the follies which they did for him (as indeed
he for them), recalled the career of Rochester, and outdid the successes
of Grammont. His very creditors loved him; and the hardest usurers, and
some of the rigid prudes of the other sex too, could deny him nothing. He
was no more witty than another man, but what he said, he said and looked
as no man else could say or look it. I have seen the women at the comedy
at Bruxelles crowd round him in the lobby: and as he sat on the stage more
people looked at him than at the actors, and watched him; and I remember
at Ramillies, when he was hit and fell, a great big red-haired Scotch
sergeant flung his halbert down, burst out a-crying like a woman, seizing
him up as if he had been an infant, and carrying him out of the fire. This
brother and sister were the most beautiful couple ever seen; though after
he winged away from the maternal nest this pair were seldom together.

Sitting at dinner two days after Esmond's arrival (it was the last day of
the year), and so happy a one to Harry Esmond, that to enjoy it was quite
worth all the previous pain which he had endured and forgot: my young
lord, filling a bumper, and bidding Harry take another, drank to his
sister, saluting her under the title of "marchioness".

"Marchioness!" says Harry, not without a pang of wonder, for he was
curious and jealous already.

"Nonsense, my lord," says Beatrix, with a toss of her head. My lady
viscountess looked up for a moment at Esmond, and cast her eyes down.

"The Marchioness of Blandford," says Frank, "don't you know--hath not Rouge
Dragon told you?" (My lord used to call the dowager at Chelsey by this and
other names.) "Blandford has a lock of her hair: the duchess found him on
his knees to Mistress 'Trix, and boxed his ears, and said Dr. Hare should
whip him."

"I wish Mr. Tusher would whip you too," says Beatrix.

My lady only said: "I hope you will tell none of these silly stories
elsewhere than at home, Francis."

"'Tis true, on my word," continues Frank: "look at Harry scowling, mother,
and see how Beatrix blushes as red as the silver-clocked stockings."

"I think we had best leave the gentlemen to their wine and their talk,"
says Mistress Beatrix, rising up with the air of a young queen, tossing
her rustling, flowing draperies about her, and quitting the room, followed
by her mother.

Lady Castlewood again looked