ittle dwarf of 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 honour 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 neighbour 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