kles, he does not neglect the little arts
of popularity, and can condescend to receive very queer company if need
be.

For instance, at the dinner-party at which I had the honour of
assisting, and at which, on the right hand of Lady Thrum, sat the oblige
nobleman, whom the Thrums were a great deal too wise to omit (the sight
of a lord does good to us commoners, or why else should we be so anxious
to have one?). In the second place of honour, and on her ladyship's left
hand, sat Mr. Slang, the manager of one of the theatres; a gentleman
whom my Lady Thrum would scarcely, but for a great necessity's sake,
have been induced to invite to her table. He had the honour of leading
Mrs. Walker to dinner, who looked splendid in black velvet and turban,
full of health and smiles.

Lord Roundtowers is an old gentleman who has been at the theatres five
times a week for these fifty years, a living dictionary of the stage,
recollecting every actor and actress who has appeared upon it for half a
century. He perfectly well remembered Miss Delancy in Morgiana; he knew
what had become of Ali Baba, and how Cassim had left the stage, and was
now the keeper of a public-house. All this store of knowledge he
kept quietly to himself, or only delivered in confidence to his next
neighbour in the intervals of the banquet, which he enjoys prodigiously.
He lives at an hotel: if not invited to dine, eats a mutton-chop
very humbly at his club, and finishes his evening after the play at
Crockford's, whither he goes not for the sake of the play, but of the
supper there. He is described in the Court Guide as of "Simmer's Hotel,"
and of Roundtowers, county Cork. It is said that the round towers really
exist. But he has not been in Ireland since the rebellion; and his
property is so hampered with ancestral mortgages, and rent-charges, and
annuities, that his income is barely sufficient to provide the modest
mutton-chop before alluded to. He has, any time these fifty years, lived
in the wickedest company in London, and is, withal, as harmless, mild,
good-natured, innocent an old gentleman as can readily be seen.

"Roundy," shouts the elegant Mr. Slang, across the table, with a voice
which makes Lady Thrum shudder, "Tuff, a glass of wine."

My Lord replies meekly, "Mr. Slang, I shall have very much pleasure.
What shall it be?"

"There is Madeira near you, my Lord," says my Lady, pointing to a tall
thin decanter of the fashion of the year.

"Madeira! M