ike going to the play. They like going to
Greenwich. They like coming to a party at Bachelor's hall. They are up
to all sorts of fun, in a word; in which taste the good-natured Newboy
acquiesces, provided he is left to follow his own.

It was only on the 17th of the month, that, having had the honor to dine
at the house, when, after dinner, which took place at eight, we left
Newboy to his blue-books, and went up stairs and sang a little to the
guitar afterwards--it was only on the 17th December, the night of Lady
Sowerby's party, that the following dialogue took place in the boudoir,
whither Newboy, blue-books in hand, had ascended.

He was curled up with his House of Commons boots on his wife's
arm-chair, reading his eternal blue-books, when Mrs. N. entered from her
apartment, dressed for the evening.

Mrs. N.--Frederick, won't you come?

Mr. N.--Where?

Mrs. N.--To Lady Sowerby's.

Mr. N.--I'd rather go to the Black Hole in Calcutta. Besides, this
Sanitary Report is really the most interesting--[he begins to read.]

Mrs. N.--(piqued)--Well, Mr. Titmarsh will go with us.

Mr. N.--Will he? I wish him joy.

At this juncture Miss Clarissa Newboy enters in a pink paletot, trimmed
with swansdown--looking like an angel--and we exchange glances of--what
shall I say?--of sympathy on both parts, and consummate rapture on mine.
But this is by-play.

Mrs. N.--Good night, Frederick. I think we shall be late.

Mr. N.--You won't wake me, I dare say; and you don't expect a public man
to sit up.

Mrs. N.--It's not you, it's the servants. Cocker sleeps very heavily.
The maids are best in bed, and are all ill with the influenza. I say,
Frederick dear, don't you think you had better give me YOUR CHUBB KEY?

This astonishing proposal, which violates every recognized law of
society--this demand which alters all the existing state of things--this
fact of a woman asking for a door-key, struck me with a terror which I
cannot describe, and impressed me with the fact of the vast progress of
Our Street. The door-key! What would our grandmothers, who dwelt in
this place when it was a rustic suburb, think of its condition now, when
husbands stay at home, and wives go abroad with the latchkey?

The evening at Lady Sowerby's was the most delicious we have spent for
long, long days.

Thus it will be seen that everybody of any consideration in Our Street
takes a line. Mrs. Minimy (34) takes the homoeopathic line, and has
soirees of