sons of ton. Society was their
being's end and aim, and the only thing which brought them pleasure
was the pain of attaining it. Did I not say truly that I would describe
individuals of a common species? Is there one who reads this, who does
not recognize that overflowing class of the English population, whose
members would conceive it an insult to be thought of sufficient rank to
be respectable for what they are?--who take it as an honour that they
are made by their acquaintance?--who renounce the ease of living for
themselves, for the trouble of living for persons who care not a pin
for their existence--who are wretched if they are not dictated to by
others--and who toil, groan, travail, through the whole course of life,
in order to forfeit their independence?

I arrived at Garrett Park just time enough to dress for dinner. As I was
descending the stairs after having performed that ceremony, I heard my
own name pronounced by a very soft, lisping voice, "Henry Pelham! dear,
what a pretty name. Is he handsome?"

"Rather distingue than handsome," was the unsatisfactory reply, couched
in a slow, pompous accent, which I immediately recognized to belong to
Lady Harriett Garrett.

"Can we make something of him?" resumed the first voice.

"Something!" said Lady Harriett, indignantly; "he will be Lord
Glenmorris! and he is son to Lady Frances Pelham."

"Ah," said the lisper, carelessly; "but can he write poetry, and play
proverbes?"

"No, Lady Harriett," said I, advancing; "but permit me, through you, to
assure Lady Nelthorpe that he can admire those who do."

"So you know me then?" said the lisper: "I see we shall be excellent
friends;" and disengaging herself from Lady Harriett, she took my arm,
and began discussing persons and things, poetry and china, French
plays and music, till I found myself beside her at dinner, and most
assiduously endeavouring to silence her by the superior engrossments of
a bechamelle de poisson.

I took the opportunity of the pause, to survey the little circle of
which Lady Harriett was the centre. In the first place, there was
Mr. Davison, a great political economist, a short, dark, corpulent
gentleman, with a quiet, serene, sleepy countenance, which put me
exceedingly in mind of my grandmother's arm-chair; beside him was a
quick, sharp little woman, all sparkle and bustle, glancing a small,
grey, prying eye round the table, with a most restless activity: this,
as Lady Nelthorpe afterwar