id Bolingbroke, rising, "we will lock up these papers,
and take a melancholy drive, in order that we may enjoy mirth the better
by and by."

CHAPTER V.

A MEETING OF WITS.--CONVERSATION GONE OUT TO SUPPER IN HER DRESS OF
VELVET AND JEWELS.

BOULAINVILLIERS! Comte de St. Saire! What will our great-grandchildren
think of that name? Fame is indeed a riddle! At the time I refer to,
wit, learning, grace--all things that charm and enlighten--were supposed
to centre in one word,-_Boulainvilliers_! The good Count had many
rivals, it is true, but he had that exquisite tact peculiar to his
countrymen, of making the very reputations of those rivals contribute
to his own. And while he assembled them around him, the lustre of their
_bons mots_, though it emanated from themselves, was reflected upon him.

It was a pleasant though not a costly apartment in which we found
our host. The room was sufficiently full of people to allow scope and
variety to one group of talkers, without being full enough to permit
those little knots and _coteries_ which are the destruction of literary
society. An old man of about seventy, of a sharp, shrewd, yet polished
and courtly expression of countenance, of a great gayety of manner,
which was now and then rather displeasingly contrasted by an abrupt
affectation of dignity, that, however, rarely lasted above a minute,
and never withstood the shock of a _bon mot_, was the first person who
accosted us. This old man was the wreck of the once celebrated Anthony
Count Hamilton!

"Well, my Lord," said he to Bolingbroke, "how do you like the weather
at Paris? It is a little better than the merciless air of London; is
it not? 'Slife!--even in June one could not go open breasted in those
regions of cold and catarrh,--a very great misfortune, let me tell
you, my Lord, if one's cambric happened to be of a very delicate and
brilliant texture, and one wished to penetrate the inward folds of a
lady's heart, by developing to the best advantage the exterior folds
that covered his own."

"It is the first time," answered Bolingbroke, "that I ever heard so
accomplished a courtier as Count Hamilton repine, with sincerity, that
he could not bare his bosom to inspection."

"Ah!" cried Boulainvilliers, "but vanity makes a man show much that
discretion would conceal."

"_Au diable_ with your discretion!" said Hamilton, "'tis a vulgar
virtue. Vanity is a truly aristocratic quality, and every way fitted to
a gentle