ers see us!"

But it would be a still more convenient thing if some power would give
the rest of the world the faculty of seeing us as we see ourselves. It
would produce a most comfortable state of public opinion; and on no
subject would it operate more favourably than on that of dress. Could
we spread over beholders the same happy delusion that rests on
ourselves, what a magical change would take place in the external
appearance of society! Mr Simpson is not the only person who might
complain that the world will not regard his several articles of attire
from the same _point of view_ as himself. We know a very charming
lady, who, when she examines her kid gloves, doubles her little fist,
and then pronounces--they will do--forgetful that she is not in the
habit of doubling her pretty fist in the face of every one that she
speaks to--and that, therefore, others will not take exactly the same
point of view as herself.

Notwithstanding the heat of the sun, our mathematician contrived to
deliver himself in a tolerable state of preservation at the mansion of
Sir John Steventon. We pass over the ceremony of dinner, and draw up
the curtain just at that time when the ladies and gentlemen have
re-assembled in the drawing-room.

We look round the well-dressed circle, and it is some time before we
can discover our worthy friend. At length, after a minute research, we
find him standing alone in the remotest corner of the room. He is
apparently engaged in examining the bust of the proprietor of the
mansion, which stands there upon its marble pedestal. He has almost
turned his back upon the company. Any one, from his attitude, might
take him for a connoisseur, perhaps an artist, absorbed in his
critical survey. But so far is he from being at the present moment
drawn away by his admiration of the fine arts, that we question
whether he even _sees_ the bust that is standing upright, face to
face, before him. He has got into that corner, and knows not how to
move from it. He knows not where else to put himself, or what else to
be looking at. The scene in which he finds himself has, from the
solitude of his later years, become strange and embarrassing. The
longer he stands there, the more impossible does it seem for him to
get away, or even to turn round and face the company. The position of
the valorous Schmelzle, who having read upon a board the notice "that
spring guns were set upon the premises," trembled as much to retreat
as to