"Oh," said Tickle, "I dare say he 's home before this, my dear."

"Poor Stiffens," said Ronfleur; "I declare-I like Stiffens; he plaisant, good, gentil man. I sorry he go." "La! so we all are," said Mrs. Tickle.

"Ah!" said her elder daughter, helping herself to some melted butter.

"You saw him here, Mr. Welsted," said Tickle, "the day you dined with us: he was your predecessor.' Welsted assented; and forthwith a whisper sent across 'the table to her sister, by the elder Miss, produced an exclamation from the younger, of "Oh la!" and a subsequent horse-laugh.

"Be quiet, Harriet," said Mrs. Tickle; "he'll hear you presently:" which, if he meant Welsted, he certainly did, and noticed at the same moment that the younger Miss Tickle had not the faculty of aspirating the H: a calamity producible at times of very comical results.

"Stiffens," said Ronfleur, who was eating salad, and who seemed determined to recur to his favourite subject, Stiffens, he draw very well: I declare-eh? his drawings were superbe, sir, eh?"

66

"Yes," said Mr. Tickle, "he had a great genius that way."

"Ah!" sighed Miss Tickle again involuntarily. "What's the matter, dear?" said her father.

Nothing, Pa," said she, sighing more deeply.—" A glass of ale, Sally, if you please."

These words, addressed to the monumental maiden before mentioned, produced a foaming tumbler, which the delicate and despairing damsel easily despatched. "Some hale for me, Sarah," said her younger sister. Yes, Miss."

"What beer do you take, Welsted?" said Tickle, in a tone of mingled familiarity and patronage.

"I'll take some ale, sir," mechanically answered the young man; and stretching out his hand to receive some, which the maid was handing about, his ears were saluted with another whisper across the table, from Miss Tickle to her sister.

"Harriet," said Elizabeth, "ring!"

"Hay," said Harriet in the same tone.

"Look," said her sister emphatically; directing with her eyes, Harriet's attention to a ring which Welsted happened to wear on one of his fingers.

"Betsy, do be quiet," said Mrs. Tickle. "I desire you will"

"Ah, Madame," said Monsieur Ronfleur, "she has so much gaieté, so much fine spirit, dat you no keep her quiet, eh? I declare."

"There are times for all things, Mounsheer," said Tickle gravely, who had overheard the whisper, and saw too that it had not escaped Welsted. "Won't you take cheese, Mr. Welsted?"

"None, sir, thank you," said Welsted.

"Try my radish, sare," said the Frenchman goodnaturedly, during a squibbing conversation, which was carrying on between the mother and daughters at the top of the table. "My radish, I declare, is superbe.I keep," continued he, bowing gracefully, "tanks to my excellent patron dere,--a little jardin, where I make grow the epinards and des onions, and de radish. You know, dey are large, ha ha!--but fine-not pipi, nor olow, I declare."

"You are very kind, sir," said Welsted, really feeling obliged for the trifling attention of the stranger; and having out of civility taken, and subsequently bitten, the fiery produce of Monsieur Ronfleur's horticultural pursuits, was, as one of the young ladies humorously observed, bitten in his turn, by the hottest specimen of the vegetable perhaps ever tasted by mortal man; the mirth his little distress occasioned was excessive, and nobody seemed at all annoyed at the result, except poor Ronfleur himself, who made a thousand apologies and protestations, that the mishap, as far as he was concerned, was perfectly unintentional.

"Upon my word," said Tickle, "Mrs. T. I am ashamed of your daughters--they really do not know how to conduct themselves."

66

'La, Pa," said Harriet, "we only laughed to see how ot the radish was."

"I am afraid,--I declare," said Ronfleur, "dat poor Mr.-Mr.-Bedstead is---"

What, it is impossible to say, for the shout of laughter which followed this blunder in my hero's name, was so long and so loud, that Miss, who was at the moment concluding her light evening repast, with the ripe part of a huge Cheshire cheese, having unfortunately overfilled her mouth just previously to its occurrence, was seized with a choking fit of coughing, and was led out of the room in a sort of semi-convulsion, by her affectionate sister, her mother, and father.

A general feeling of alarm was expressed, which, however, was somewhat allayed by an assurance on the part of Mrs. Tickle, who returned for some water, that Betsy would soon be better; for which assurance she gave most efficient reasons, not necessary here to repeat, and which to Welsted's ear, even with his knowledge of Mrs. Rodney, seemed at the moment almost superflu

ous.

That poor Francis was now doomed for ever to be called by the name innocently appropriated to him by Monsieur Ronfleur, must be pretty evident to my readers; and it must be confessed, that the experience of the past hour was not very likely to reconcile a mind, agitated as his was, to the prospect before him.

It was quite amusing to see (and perfectly characteristic) the anxiety of Ronfleur to obliterate, by every possible civility and attention towards Welsted, any impression of rudeness which the mistake in his name might have conveyed; and while the young lady was getting better in another room, he did not resume his seat, (for all the party had risen in alarm,) but came over to Welsted, (whose manner soon convinced him that he was not in the slightest degree offended,) and assailed him with offers of snuff and half-whispered observations in praise of the family, which, during their absence, he thought he might, advantageously to all parties, throw in.

"Very fine young woman, Miss Tickle," said he, "good head--clever I declare--quick-piquante, you know, eh ?--draws, eh? sings, and pinches ;--oh, I declare, Ma'mselle pinches beautiful."

"Yes," said Welsted, wrongly imagining his French friend to allude to some of the young lady's little endearing ways, instead of simply, with the French idiom, recommending her performance on the harp.

"And Miss Harriet is an uncommon nice girl, Sir, when you come to know her," said Dixon; "of the two, she's the most lively."

"Ah!" said Ronfleur, "Ma'mselle Betsé--you know --eh?--I tell some other time, Mr. Bed

----eh? tell me, eh ?-Wellsted, eh?" "Welsted," said Francis.

-, psha? Well

"Welsted? I assure you, Mister Welsted, shall be guilty to forget him no more."

I never

At this juncture the family group returned to their places, and supper being removed, a plated stand of bottles, jugs of hot and cold water, sugar, and glasses in abundance, made their appearance.

Now, Welsted," said Tickle, who was in truth annoyed at the rudeness of his girls, and had taken the opportunity of leaving the room to express his disapprobation of it,--" what mixture do you take?"

"I-seldom-" said Welsted.

"Let Harriet mix you some Hollands and water; you'll find it excellent," said Tickle.

"If you please," answered Welsted.

"Ollands, Mr. Welsted?" said Miss Harriet enquiringly.

"Thank you," bowed Welsted.

"Ot or cold, Sir ?"

"Cold," said Frank, merely because he did not know how to repeat the word she had just uttered, so as to express its real meaning, without practically correcting her mode of pronouncing it.

"With sugar?" continued Harriet.

"No, I thank you," said Frank.

"You are no friend to the grocer, then," said the

smiling girl, who, having been directed to make the amiable, determined to show off in some of the pleasantries of middling life.

"Ma, what will you have?" said Elizabeth.

"I'll take some of the dark brown, my dear," said Mrs. Tickle; "it a'nt genteel for ladies to ask for brandy, you know, Mr. Welsted; he! he! he!"

"Mounsheer, what will you have?" said Tickle. "Water, Sare, water, if you please," said Ronfleur, "with a leetil bit of sugar, if Miss Harriet will be so kind."

"There, Mounsheer," said Harriet, pushing towards him a bumper of the pure element, sweetened to his

taste.

"Shall I pass you a spoon, Sir?" said Miss Tickle to Welsted, endeavouring, after her younger sister's example, to atone for her rudeness by overstrained civility. Welsted bowed, and accepted her offer.

"Now, Dixon," said Tickle, "you'll brew for yourself."

"If you please, Sir," said the grave arithmetician, who proved himself in the performance a perfect master of mixed quantities.

"How's your throat, child?" said Tickle to Elizabeth.

"Oh, quite well, pa, thank you," said she; "it was a bit of the rind of the cheese that stuck.”

"Ah!" said Mrs. T-, "you will always eat the rind, let me say what I will-you never remember how many nasty dirty hands it has been through."

"I suppose, Miss Elizabeth feels Ticklish," said Dixon, who was a punster.

"Ha! ha!" said Ronfleur, with all the simplicity and bonhommie imaginable:-"So many times you say dat joke, every body laugh always, I declare-him so good, ha ha ha!"

Any news in this evening's paper, Mr. Dixon ?" said Tickle to his usher, who always went to a neighbouring public-house, to glean intelligence from the

Globe.