ds informed me, was a Miss Trafford, an
excellent person for a Christmas in the country, whom every body was
dying to have: she was an admirable mimic, an admirable actress, and
an admirable reciter; made poetry and shoes, and told fortunes by the
cards, which came actually true.

There was also Mr. Wormwood, the noli-me-tangere of literary lions--an
author who sowed his conversation not with flowers but thorns. Nobody
could accuse him of the flattery generally imputed to his species;
through the course of a long and varied life, he had never once
been known to say a civil thing. He was too much disliked not to be
recherche; whatever is once notorious, even for being disagreeable, is
sure to be courted in England. Opposite to him sat the really clever,
and affectedly pedantic Lord Vincent, one of those persons who have been
"promising young men" all their lives; who are found till four o'clock
in the afternoon in a dressing-gown, with a quarto before them; who go
down into the country for six weeks every session, to cram an impromptu
reply; and who always have a work in the press which is never to be
published.

Lady Nelthorpe herself I had frequently seen. She had some reputation
for talent, was exceedingly affected, wrote poetry in albums, ridiculed
her husband, who was a fox hunter, and had a great penchant pour les
beaux arts et les beaux hommes.

There were four or five others of the unknown vulgar, younger brothers,
who were good shots and bad matches; elderly ladies, who lived in
Baker-street, and liked long whist; and young ones, who never took wine,
and said "Sir."

I must, however, among this number, except the beautiful Lady Roseville,
the most fascinating woman, perhaps, of the day. She was evidently the
great person there, and, indeed, among all people who paid due deference
to ton, was always sure to be so every where. I have never seen but one
person more beautiful. Her eyes were of the deepest blue; her complexion
of the most delicate carnation; her hair of the richest auburn: nor
could even Mr. Wormwood detect the smallest fault in the rounded yet
slender symmetry of her figure.

Although not above twenty-five, she was in that state in which alone a
woman ceases to be a dependant--widowhood. Lord Roseville, who had been
dead about two years, had not survived their marriage many months; that
period was, however, sufficiently long to allow him to appreciate her
excellence, and to testify his sense o