thought I,
'faith, I'm in good quarters!' and had leisure, during the half-hour's
interval, not only to advance my own person to the utmost polish of
elegance which it is capable of receiving, to admire the pedigree of the
Pontos hanging over the chimney, and the Ponto crest and arms emblazoned
on the wash-hand basin and jug, but to make a thousand reflections on
the happiness of a country life--upon the innocent friendliness and
cordiality of rustic intercourse; and to sigh for an opportunity of
retiring, like Ponto, to my own fields, to my own vine and fig-tree,
with a placens uxor in my domus, and a half-score of sweet young pledges
of affection sporting round my paternal knee.

Clang! At the end of thirty minutes, dinner-bell number two pealed from
the adjacent turret. I hastened downstairs, expecting to find a score
of healthy country folk in the drawing-room. There was only one person
there; a tall and Roman-nosed lady, glistering over with bugles, in deep
mourning. She rose, advanced two steps, made a majestic curtsey, during
which all the bugles in her awful head-dress began to twiddle and
quiver--and then said, 'Mr. Snob, we are very happy to see you at the
Evergreens,' and heaved a great sigh.

This, then, was Mrs. Major Ponto; to whom making my very best bow, I
replied, that I was very proud to make her acquaintance, as also that of
so charming a place as the Evergreens.

Another sigh. 'We are distantly related, Mr. Snob,' said she, shaking
her melancholy head. 'Poor dear Lord Rubadub!'

'Oh!' said I; not knowing what the deuce Mrs. Major Ponto meant.

'Major Ponto told me that you were of the Leicestershire Snobs: a very
old family, and related to Lord Snobbington, who married Laura Rubadub,
who is a cousin of mine, as was her poor dear father, for whom we are
mourning. What a seizure! only sixty-three, and apoplexy quite unknown
until now in our family! In life we are in death, Mr. Snob. Does Lady
Snobbington bear the deprivation well?'

'Why, really, ma'am, I--I don't know,' I replied, more and more
confused.

As she was speaking I heard a sort of CLOOP, by which well-known sound I
was aware that somebody was opening a bottle of wine, and Ponto entered,
in a huge white neckcloth, and a rather shabby black suit.

'My love,' Mrs. Major Ponto said to her husband, 'we were talking of our
cousin--poor dear Lord Rubadub. His death has placed some of the first
families in England in mourning. Does Lady