had
not thought of them before, when they were the very people for my
purpose? Why, not a soul could come into Saint Canon's parish without
their knowledge, and a fresh face in church would set them at once on
the qui vive. The Dashers, of course, must have seen my unknown ladies,
and would be able to give me more information concerning them than I
could expect from any one else. I had often heard three to one betted,
with no "takers," that they would tell you everything about any
particular person, his, or her, antecedents, prospects, and position,
who had but remained for ten consecutive minutes within a radius of one
mile of their house. To the Dashers I would consequently go, by all
means--thank Providence for the suggestion, and their existence!

Lady Dasher, the head of this all-wise circle, was the youngest daughter
of a deceased Irish peer, whom she was continually bringing on the
carpet, and causing--unhappy ghost that he was--to retrace his weary way
from wherever the spirits of defunct Hibernian nobles most do
congregate.

She did not do this through family pride, or with any boastful
intention, but simply from sheer morbidity. She was always scoring down
grievances in the present by looking back on the past. With her, it was
all repining and retrospect. When her poor father, the earl, was alive,
she was never slighted in this way. Had her dear papa but now existed,
Mistress So-and-So would have returned her call, and not insulted her by
her palpable neglect. It was very Christian-like and charitable to say
otherwise; but _she_ knew better: it was on account of her being poor,
and living in a small house. Oh, yes! she was very well aware of
_that_; yet, although she could not keep up a grand establishment and
was poor, she was proud, and would never forget that she was an earl's
daughter. She would not be ground down with impunity! Even the worm
will turn: and so on. You can understand her character almost without
another word of description.

In spite of being a kindly-hearted soul at bottom, she was really, I
believe, the most morbid and melancholic person that ever breathed,--at
least, in my experience. Should you, unfortunately, be forced to remain
for any length of time in her presence, she had a most singularly
depressing influence on your spirits. Wet blanket? Bless your heart!
that would be no name for her. She was a patent shower-bath, coming
down on all your cherished sentiments,