appeared in, and it was for
the picnic she kept it. That small motives are at the bottom of many
illustrious actions is a modern discovery; but I shall not adopt the
modern principle of magnifying the small motive till it overshadows my
noble heroine. I remember that the small motive is only to be seen by
being borne into the range of my vision by a powerful microscope; and
if I do more than see--if I carry on my reflections by the aid of the
glass, I arrive at conclusions that must be false. Men who dwarf human
nature do this. The gods are juster. The Countess, though she wished to
remain for the pic-nic, and felt warm in anticipation of the homage to
her new dress, was still a gallant general and a devoted sister, and if
she said to herself, 'Come what may, I will stay for that pic-nic, and
they shall not brow-beat me out of it,' it is that trifling pleasures
are noisiest about the heart of human nature: not that they govern
us absolutely. There is mob-rule in minds as in communities, but the
Countess had her appetites in excellent drill. This pic-nic
surrendered, represented to her defeat in all its ignominy. The largest
longest-headed of schemes ask occasionally for something substantial and
immediate. So the Countess stipulated with Providence for the pic-nic.
It was a point to be passed: 'Thorough flood, thorough fire.'

In vain poor Andrew Cogglesby, to whom the dinner had been torture, and
who was beginning to see the position they stood in at Beckley, begged
to be allowed to take them away, or to go alone. The Countess laughed
him into submission. As a consequence of her audacious spirits she grew
more charming and more natural, and the humour that she possessed, but
which, like her other faculties, was usually subordinate to her plans,
gave spontaneous bursts throughout the day, and delighted her courtiers.
Nor did the men at all dislike the difference of her manner with them,
and with the ladies. I may observe that a woman who shows a marked
depression in the presence of her own sex will be thought very superior
by ours; that is, supposing she is clever and agreeable. Manhood
distinguishes what flatters it. A lady approaches. 'We must be proper,'
says the Countess, and her hearty laugh dies with suddenness and is
succeeded by the maturest gravity. And the Countess can look a profound
merriment with perfect sedateness when there appears to be an equivoque
in company. Finely secret are her glances, as if under