r magnificent dress into the most becoming folds; "people
will come late do what one may."

"They may do so, that's very true; but I would beg to observe, you need
not wait for them." This was said with a smile towards the hussars,
as though to imply, "There is no reason why you should not express an
opinion, if it agree with mine."

The baronet immediately bowed, and smiling, so as to show a very white
range of teeth beneath his dark moustache, said, "In part, I agree with
your Lordship, but it requires the high hand of fashion to reform the
abuse." Here a most insidious glance at her Ladyship most effectually
conveyed the point of his meaning.

Just then, in all the majesty of crimson velvet, Mrs. Kennyfeck
appeared, her comely person heaving under the accumulated splendor
of lace, flowers, and jewelry. Her daughters, more simply but still
handsomely dressed, followed, Mr. Kennyfeck bringing up the rear, in
very evident confusion at having torn his kid gloves,--a misfortune
which he was not clear should be buried in silence, or made the subject
of public apology.

Lady Kilgoff received Mrs. Kennyfeck's excuses for being late with a
very quiet, gentle smile; but my Lord, less given to forgiveness, held
his watch towards Mr. Kennyfeck, and said, "There 's always an excuse
for a man of business, sir, or this would be very reprehensible."
Fortunately for all parties the company now poured in faster; every
instant saw some two or three arrive. Indeed, with such speed did they
appear, it seemed as if they had all waited for a movement _en masse_:
judges and generals, with nieces and daughters manifold, country
gentlemen, cliente, the _elite_ of Dublin diners-out, the Whites, the
Rigbys, with their ringleted girls, the young member for Mactark, the
Solicitor-General and Mrs. Knivett, and, at last, escorted by his staff
of curates and small vicars, came "the Dean" himself, conducting a
very learned dissertation on the musical properties of the
"Chickgankazoo,"--a three-stringed instrument of an African tribe,
and which he professed to think "admirably adapted for country
congregations too poor to buy an organ! Any one could play it, Softly
could play it, Mrs. Kennyfeck could--"

"How do you do, Mr. Dean?" said that lady, in her sweetest of voices.

The Dean accepted the offered hand, but, without attending to the
salutation, went on with a very curious argument respecting the vocal
chords in the human throat, which he