At length comes the hour of luncheon, when other delicacies are produced, and duly indulged in; and then the duties of the toilet have to be attended to—a stray ringlet or a captivating dimple taken to task—a smile, a look, or an attitude studied, until the time arrives when a drive in the carriage, or a stroll through some pleasant vale, is practicable. After enjoying these exercises for some time, the dressing-room is once more sought, and beauty receives every assistance that art can give her, in direct opposition to the advice of the author of the “Seasons.” About seven, the whole party assemble around the dinner-table, where luxurious fare and choice wines receive additional _gusto_ from a profusion of handsome plate, rich glass, snowy table-linen, and a well-lighted apartment. I cannot in this place, pass over the head of all West Indian confectionary, a _floating island_, without further mention. Could I give an authentic recipe for the making of it, my patriotic spirit would lead me immediately to do so; but as that is not in my power, I can only say it is compounded of cream, sugar, guava jelly, and citron, and is of all sweets the very sweetest. Despite what Baron Munchausen says to the contrary, I could, were all floating islands like it, willingly live upon them; and consequently, his strenuous exertions in driving stakes through them, to render them stationary, as of erst he says he did St. Christopher’s, would meet with no thanks from me. Dr. Johnson has remarked that the hour of dinner is the most important of the twenty-four; be it so; like all other important, as well as unimportant matters, time at length brings it to a close. The drawing-room is once more sought, and in lively conversation, or listening to soft strains of music, which our lamented _Mrs. Hemans_ has so beautifully eulogized, the evening passes away, or is closed in with a sprightly quadrille.