honoured mother, whose beauties you so gallantly
laud, I think you will own, Sir William, that this is better for your
nephew than doing solitary penance in your chariot of green and gold,
with a handkerchief tied over his head to keep away cold, and with no
more fanciful occupation than composing sonnets to the four Flanders
mares."

"'Sdeath, Madam, you inherit your mother's wit as well as beauty," cried
my uncle, with an impassioned air.

"And his Countship," said I, "will accept your invitation without asking
his uncle's leave."

"Come, that is bold for a gentleman of--let me see, thirteen--are you
not?"

"Really," answered I, "one learns to forget time so terribly in the
presence of Lady Hasselton that I do not remember even how long it has
existed for me."

"Bravo!" cried the knight, with a moistening eye; "you see, Madam, the
boy has not lived with his old uncle for nothing."

"I am lost in astonishment!" said the lady, glancing towards the
glass; "why, you will eclipse all our beaux at your first appearance;
but--but--Sir William--how green those glasses have become! Bless me,
there is something so contagious in the effects of the country that the
very mirrors grow verdant. But--Count--Count--where are you, Count? [I
was exactly opposite to the fair speaker.] Oh, there you are! Pray, do
you carry a little pocket-glass of the true quality about you? But, of
course you do; lend it me."

"I have not the glass you want, but I carry with me a mirror that
reflects your features much more faithfully."

"How! I protest I do not understand you!"

"The mirror is here!" said I, laying my hand to my heart.

"'Gad, I must kiss the boy!" cried my uncle, starting up.

"I have sworn," said I, fixing my eyes upon the lady,--"I have sworn
never to be kissed, even by women. You must pardon me, Uncle."

"I declare," cried the Lady Hasselton, flirting her fan, which was
somewhat smaller than the screen that one puts into a great hall, in
order to take off the discomfort of too large a room,--"I declare,
Count, there is a vast deal of originality about you. But tell me, Sir
William, where did your nephew acquire, at so early an age--eleven, you
say, he is--such a fund of agreeable assurance?"

"Nay, Madam, let the boy answer for himself."

"_Imprimis_, then," said I, playing with the ribbon of my
cane,--"_imprimis_, early study of the best authors,--Congreve and
Farquhar, Etherege and Rochester; secondly, the consta