The old gentleman held up his hands in droll disclaimer, and chuckled merrily “No, no; I enjoy from the shore the disasters of my youthful friends--that sacred pleasure is left me. Do you see that elegant creature with the little auburn beard and mustache, waiting sweetly for his dinner. He launched the Somerset.” “Launched her?” “Yes; but for him she might have wasted her time breaking hearts and slapping faces in some country village. He it was set her devastating society; and with his aid she shall devastate you.--Vandeleur, will you join Bassett and me?” Mr. Vandeleur, with ready grace, said he should be delighted, and they dined together accordingly. Mr. Vandeleur, six feet high, lank, but graceful as a panther, and the pink of politeness, was, beneath his varnish, one of the wildest young men in London--gambler, horse-racer, libertine, what not?--but in society charming, and his manners singularly elegant and winning. He never obtruded his vices in good company; in fact, you might dine with him all your life and not detect him. The young serpent was torpid in wine; but he came out, a bit at a time, in the sunshine of Cigar. After a brisk conversation on current topics, the venerable chief told him plainly they were both curious to know the history of Miss Somerset, and he must tell it them. “Oh, with pleasure,” said the obliging youth. “Let us go into the smoking-room.” “Let--me--see. I picked her up by the sea-side. She promised well at first. We put her on my chestnut mare, and she showed lots of courage, so she soon learned to ride; but she kicked, even down there.” “Kicked!--whom?” “Kicked all round; I mean showed temper. And when she got to London, and had ridden a few times in the park, and swallowed flattery, there was no holding her. I stood her cheek for a good while, but at last I told the servants they must not turn her out, but they could keep her out. They sided with me for once. She had ridden over them, as well. The first time she went out they bolted the doors, and handed her boxes up the area steps.” “How did she take that?” “Easier than we expected. She said, 'Lucky for you beggars that I'm a lady, or I'd break every d--d window in the house.'” This caused a laugh. It subsided. The historian resumed. “Next day she cooled, and wrote a letter.” “To you?” “No, to my groom. Would you like to see it? It is a curiosity.” He sent one of the club waiters for his servant, and his servant for his desk, and produced the letter. “There!” said Vandeleur. “She looks like a queen, and steps like an empress, and this is how she writes: “'DEAR JORGE--i have got the sak, an' praps your turn nex. dear jorge he alwaies promise me the grey oss, which now an oss is life an death to me. If you was to ast him to lend me the grey he wouldn't refuse you, “'Yours respecfully, “'RHODA SOMERSET.'”