URABLE Missa Fiss-Urse!" It was evident that Lady Thrum had
instructed the swarthy groom of the chambers (for there is nothing
particularly honourable in my friend Fitz's face that I know of, unless
an abominable squint may be said to be so). Lady Thrum, whose figure is
something like that of the shot-tower opposite Waterloo Bridge, makes a
majestic inclination and a speech to signify her pleasure at receiving
under her roof two of the children of Sir George's best pupils. A
lady in black velvet is seated by the old fireplace, with whom a stout
gentleman in an exceedingly light coat and ornamental waistcoat is
talking very busily. "The great star of the night," whispers our host.
"Mrs. Walker, gentlemen--the RAVENSWING! She is talking to the famous
Mr. Slang, of the ---- Theatre."

"Is she a fine singer?" says Fitz-Urse. "She's a very fine woman."

"My dear young friends, you shall hear to-night! I, who have heard every
fine voice in Europe, confidently pledge my respectability that the
Ravenswing is equal to them all. She has the graces, sir, of a Venus
with the mind of a Muse. She is a siren, sir, without the dangerous
qualities of one. She is hallowed, sir, by her misfortunes as by her
genius; and I am proud to think that my instructions have been the means
of developing the wondrous qualities that were latent within her until
now."

"You don't say so!" says gobemouche Fitz-Urse.

Having thus indoctrinated Mr. Fitz-Urse, Sir George takes another of his
guests, and proceeds to work upon him. "My dear Mr. Bludyer, how do you
do? Mr. Fitz-Boodle, Mr. Bludyer, the brilliant and accomplished
wit, whose sallies in the Tomahawk delight us every Saturday. Nay, no
blushes, my dear sir; you are very wicked, but oh! SO pleasant. Well,
Mr. Bludyer, I am glad to see you, sir, and hope you will have
a favourable opinion of our genius, sir. As I was saying to Mr.
Fitz-Boodle, she has the graces of a Venus with the mind of a Muse. She
is a siren, without the dangerous qualities of one," etc. This
little speech was made to half-a-dozen persons in the course of the
evening--persons, for the most part, connected with the public journals
or the theatrical world. There was Mr. Squinny, the editor of the
Flowers of Fashion; Mr. Desmond Mulligan, the poet, and reporter for
a morning paper; and other worthies of their calling. For though
Sir George is a respectable man, and as high-minded and moral an old
gentleman as ever wore knee-buc