g him from all sides of the room; those regular stunning slap-up
out-and-outers? And Calverley spelling bad, and calling him Hokey-fokey,
confound her impudence! The idea of being engaged to a dinner at
the Elephant and Castle at Richmond with that old woman (who was
seven-and-thirty years old, if she was a day) filled his mind with
dreary disgust now, instead of that pleasure which he had only yesterday
expected to find from the entertainment.

When his fond mamma beheld her boy that morning, she remarked on the
pallor of his cheek, and the general gloom of his aspect. "Why do you
go on playing billiards at that wicked Spratt's?" Lady Agnes asked. "My
dearest child, those billiards will kill you, I'm sure they will."

"It isn't the billiards," Harry said, gloomily.

"Then it's the dreadful Back Kitchen," said the Lady Agnes. "I've often
thought, d'you know, Harry, of writing to the landlady, and begging that
she would have the kindness to put only very little wine in the negus
which you take, and see that you have your shawl on before you get into
your brougham."

"Do, ma'am. Mrs Cutts is a most kind motley woman," Harry said. "But it
isn't the Back Kitchen, neither," he added, with a ghastly sigh.

As Lady Agnes never denied her son anything, and fell into all his ways
with the fondest acquiescence, she was rewarded by a perfect confidence
on young Harry's part, who never thought to disguise from her a
knowledge of the haunts which he frequented; and, on the contrary,
brought her home choice anecdotes from the clubs and billiard-rooms,
which the simple lady relished, if she did not understand. "My son goes
to Spratt's," she would say to her confidential friends. "All the young
men go to Spratt's after their balls. It is de rigueur, my dear; and
they play billiards as they used to play macao and hazard in Mr. Fox's
time. Yes, my dear father often told me that they sate up always until
nine o'clock the next morning with Mr. Fox at Brookes's, whom I remember
at Drnmmington, when I was a little girl, in a buff waistcoat and black
satin small-clothes. My brother Erith never played as a young man, nor
sate up late--he had no health for it; but my boy must do as everybody
does, you know. Yes, and then he often goes to a place called the Back
Kitchen, frequented by all the wits and authors, you know, whom one does
not see in society, but whom it is a great privilege and pleasure for
Harry to meet, and there he hears the q