he roof. The
Colonel's pistols were put in the pockets of the carriage, and the
blunderbuss hung behind the box, in reach of Brian, who was an old
soldier. No highwayman, however, molested the convoy; not even an
innkeeper levied contributions on Colonel Lambert, who, with a slender
purse and a large family, was not to be plundered by those or any other
depredators on the king's highway; and a reasonable cheap modest lodging
had been engaged for them by young Colonel Wolfe, at the house where he
was in the habit of putting up, and whither he himself accompanied them
on horseback.

It happened that these lodgings were opposite Madame Bernstein's; and as
the Oakhurst family reached their quarters on a Saturday evening, they
could see chair after chair discharging powdered beaux and patched and
brocaded beauties at the Baroness's door, who was holding one of her
many card-parties. The sun was not yet down (for our ancestors began
their dissipations at early hours, and were at meat, drink, or cards,
any time after three o'clock in the afternoon until any time in the
night or morning), and the young country ladies and their mother from
their window could see the various personages as they passed into the
Bernstein rout. Colonel Wolfe told the ladies who most of the characters
were. 'Twas almost as delightful as going to the party themselves, Hetty
and Theo thought, for they not only could see the guests arriving, but
look into the Baroness's open casements and watch many of them there. Of
a few of the personages we have before had a glimpse. When the Duchess
of Queensberry passed, and Mr. Wolfe explained who she was, Martin
Lambert was ready with a score of lines about "Kitty, beautiful and
young," from his favourite Mat Prior.

"Think that that old lady was once like you, girls!" cries the Colonel.

"Like us, papa? Well, certainly we never set up for being beauties!"
says Miss Hetty, tossing up her little head.

"Yes, like you, you little baggage; like you at this moment, who want to
go to that drum yonder:--

'Inflamed with rage at sad restraint
Which wise mamma ordained,
And sorely vexed to play the saint
Whilst wit and beauty reigned.'"

"We were never invited, papa; and I am sure if there's no beauty more
worth seeing than that, the wit can't be much worth the hearing," again
says the satirist of the family.

"Oh, but he's a rare poet, Mat Prior!" continues the Colonel; "though,
mind you