iamonds, found that they were paste,
and that the Marquis had disposed of them beforehand?' 'How was it that
Snuffin, the great tobacco-merchant, broke off the marriage which was on
the tapis between him and their second daughter; and was it true that a
mulatto lady came over from the Havanna and forbade the match?'

'Upon my word, Madam,' I had begun, and was going on to say that I
didn't know one word about all these matters which seemed so to interest
Mrs. Major Ponto, when the Major, giving me a tread or stamp with his
large foot under the table, said--'Come, come, Snob my boy, we are all
tiled, you know. We KNOW you're one of the fashionable people about
town: we saw your name at Lady Clapperclaw's SOIREES, and the Champignon
breakfasts; and as for the Rubadubs, of course, as relations ---'

'Oh, of course, I dine there twice a-week,' I said; and then I
remembered that my cousin, Humphry Snob, of the Middle Temple, IS a
great frequenter of genteel societies, and to have seen his name in the
MORNING POST at the tag-end of several party lists. So, taking the
hint, I am ashamed to say I indulged Mrs. Major Ponto with a deal of
information about the first families in England, such as would astonish
those great personages if they knew it. I described to her most
accurately the three reigning beauties of last season at Almack's:
told her in confidence that his Grace the D--- of W--- was going to be
married the day after his Statue was put up; that his Grace the D--- of
D--- was also about to lead the fourth daughter of the Archduke Stephen
to the hymeneal altar:--and talked to her, in a word, just in the style
of Mrs. Gore's last fashionable novel.

Mrs. Major was quite fascinated by this brilliant conversation. She
began to trot out scraps of French, just for all the world as they do
in the novels; and kissed her hand to me quite graciously, telling me
to come soon to caffy, UNG PU DE MUSICK O SALONG--with which she tripped
off like an elderly fairy.

'Shall I open a bottle of port, or do you ever drink such a thing as
Hollands and water?' says Ponto, looking ruefully at me. This was a very
different style of thing to what I had been led to expect from him at
our smoking-room at the Club: where he swaggers about his horses and
his cellar: and slapping me on the shoulder used to say, 'Come down
to Mangelwurzelshire, Snob my boy, and I'll give you as good a day's
shooting and as good a glass of claret as any in the cou