g him as if he had been her guitar, I suppose; so that
the little fellow bawled pitifully--and his father finally quitted the
premises.

No sooner was he gone, although the party was still a fortnight off,
than the women pounced upon his little study, and began to put it in
order. Some of his papers they pushed up over the bookcase, some they
put behind the Encyclopaedia. Some they crammed into the drawers--where
Mrs. Gashleigh found three cigars, which she pocketed, and some letters,
over which she cast her eye; and by Fitz's return they had the room as
neat as possible, and the best glass and dessert-service mustered on the
study table.

It was a very neat and handsome service, as you may be sure Mrs.
Gashleigh thought, whose rich uncle had purchased it for the young
couple, at Spode and Copeland's; but it was only for twelve persons.

It was agreed that it would be, in all respects, cheaper and better to
purchase a dozen more dessert-plates; and with "my silver basket in
the centre," Mrs. G. said (she is always bragging about that confounded
bread-basket), "we need not have any extra china dishes, and the table
will look very pretty."

On making a roll-call of the glass, it was calculated that at least a
dozen or so tumblers, four or five dozen wines, eight water-bottles, and
a proper quantity of ice-plates, were requisite; and that, as they would
always be useful, it would be best to purchase the articles immediately.
Fitz tumbled over the basket containing them, which stood in the hall as
he came in from chambers, and over the boy who had brought them--and the
little bill.

The women had had a long debate, and something like a quarrel, it must
be owned, over the bill of fare. Mrs. Gashleigh, who had lived a great
part of her life in Devonshire, and kept house in great state there,
was famous for making some dishes, without which, she thought, no dinner
could be perfect. When she proposed her mock-turtle, and stewed pigeons,
and gooseberry-cream, Rosa turned up her nose--a pretty little nose it
was, by the way, and with a natural turn in that direction.

"Mock-turtle in June, mamma!" said she.

"It was good enough for your grandfather, Rosa," the mamma replied: "it
was good enough for the Lord High Admiral, when he was at Plymouth; it
was good enough for the first men in the county, and relished by Lord
Fortyskewer and Lord Rolls; Sir Lawrence Porker ate twice of it after
Exeter races; and I think it might b