ges!--put a marker in that book," said
she, in an under-tone, to her granddaughter, "page seventy-four--ah,"
she resumed in a higher tone, "that reminds me of the Honourable
Captain Wriggle, who commanded a seventy-four, and danced with me at
the Castle the evening Lady Legge sprained her ankle. By-the-bye, are
there any seventy-fours in Dublin now?"

"I wather think," said Furlong, "the bay is not sufficiently deep for
line-of-battle ships."

"Oh dear, yes! I have seen quantities of seventy-fours there; though,
indeed, I am not quite sure if it wasn't at _Splithead_. Give me the
smelling salts, Charlotte, love; mine does ache indeed! How subject the
dear Duchess of Rutland was to headaches; you did not know the Duchess
of Rutland?--no, to be sure, what am I thinking of? you're too young;
but those were the charming days! You have heard, of course, the
duchess's _bon mot_ in reply to the compliment of Lord ----, but I must
not mention his name, because there was some scandal about them; but the
gentleman said to the duchess--I must tell you she was Isabella, Duchess
of Rutland--and he said, 'Isabelle _is_ a _belle_,' to which the duchess
replied, 'Isabelle _was_ a _belle_.'"

"Vewy neat, indeed!" said Furlong.

"Ah! poor thing," said the dowager, with a sigh, "she was beginning to
be a little _passee_ then;" she looked in the glass herself, and added,
"Dear me, how pale I am this morning!" and pulling out one of the little
drawers from the Japan looking-glass, she took out a pot of rouge and
heightened the colour on her cheek. The old lady not only heightened her
own colour, but that of the witnesses--of Furlong particularly, who was
_quite_ surprised. "Why am I so very pale this morning, Charlotte love?"
continued the old lady.

"You sit up so late reading, grandmamma."

"Ah, who can resist the fascination of the muses? You are fond of
literature, I hope, sir?"

"Extwemely," replied Furlong.

"As a statesman," continued the old lady--to whom Furlong made a deep
obeisance at the word "statesman"--"as a statesman, of course your
reading lies in the more solid department; but if you ever _do_
condescend to read a romance, there is the sweetest thing I ever met I
am just now engaged in; it is called 'The Blue Robber of the Pink
Mountain.' I have not come to the pink mountain yet, but the blue robber
is the most perfect character. The author, however, is guilty of a
strange forgetfulness; he begins by speaking of