briated Baronet.

"Stole away," said Sir Brian; "a shy man, Miss Coventry--a shy,
diffident man, my friend Haycock, but true as steel--not a better
landlord in the county--excellent neighbour--useful magistrate--good
house--beautiful garden--lots of poultry, and a glass beehive--wants
nothing but a wife--order the carriage, my lady.--Mrs. Plumridge, you
must come and see us at Slopperly, and don't forget to bring
Plumridge.--Miss Coventry, you're a charming young lady; mind you come
too." So jolly Sir Brian wished us both a most affectionate
good-night, and, shaking Aunt Horsingham violently by both hands,
packed himself into his carriage in a state of high good-humour and
confusion. I have since heard that on his arrival at Slopperly he
stoutly refused to get out, declaring that he preferred to "sit in the
carriage whilst they changed horses," and avowing, much to his old
butler's astonishment, his resolution to go "at least one more stage
that night."

CHAPTER XI.

I must despair of being able in simple narrative to convey the
remotest idea of the dullness of Dangerfield Hall; but as during my
residence there I beguiled the weary hours by keeping a diary (bound
in blue velvet, with brass clasps and a Bramah lock), I have it in my
power, by transcribing a few of its pages, to present to my readers my
own impressions of life in that well-regulated establishment. I put
things down just as they happened, with my own reflections, more or
less philosophical, on the events of each day. My literary labours
were invariably carried on after the family had retired for the night;
and I may observe that a loose white dressing-gown, trimmed with
Mechlin lace and pink ribbons--one's hair, of course, being "taken
down"--is a costume extremely well adapted to the efforts of
composition. I take a day from the diary at random.

_Thursday_.--Up at half-past seven; peeped in the glass the instant I
was out of bed, and wondered how Cousin Amelia looks when she wakes.
Yellowish, I should think, and by no means captivating, particularly
if she wears a nightcap. I don't care how ugly a woman is, she has no
right to look anything but _fresh_ in the morning; and yet how few
possess this advantage! Nothing like open air and plenty of exercise;
_saving_ one's complexion is undoubtedly the very way to spoil it. Saw
Brilliant and White Stockings going to exercise in the Park. What
coddles they look on these fine autumn mornings, covere