melody which came booming over the hushed fields. One of these dinner-parties--that to which she had invited Beresford--is just over. The French windows in the long, low dining-room are open; the table is covered with the remains of dessert, and some of the guests have already lighted cigars. Kate Mellon heads her table still; she never leaves the room to the gentlemen,--"It's slow," he says; "women alone fight or bore;" so she remains. You can catch a good glimpse of her now under that shaded swinging moderator-lamp; a little woman, with a closely-knit figure, long violet eyes, and red-gold hair, taken off over her ears, twisted in a thick lump at the back of her head, and secured with a pink coral comb of horse-shoe shape. She is dressed in white spotted muslin, fastened at the throat and waist with coral brooch and clasps. Her nose is a little too thick for beauty; her lips full; her mouth large, with strong white teeth; her hands are white, but large and sinewy; and the tones of her voice are sharp and clear. She is shouting with laughter at a song which a jolly-looking young man, sitting at the little cottage-piano at the end of the room, has just finished; and her laugh makes the old rafters ring again. "I always yell at that song, Tom," she says. "I haven't heard it since last winter, the day that 'Punch' Croker dined here, and we gave him an olive to taste for the first time." "He's tremendous fun, is Punch," said the singer. "Why didn't he dine here to-day? Is he out of town?" "He's got a moor with Penkridge," said Beresford, who was sitting next the hostess. "By Jove, how bored Penkridge will be before he's done with him!" "Punch has not got much to say for himself," said a tall man, in a dark beard. "I've had him down to dine with me when I've been on guard at the Bank, and, 'pon my soul, he's never said a word the whole night!" "He was at Baden with us last year," said Beresford; "and when we used to sit and smoke our weeds after dinner in front of the Kursaal, he used to bore us so with staring at us and saying nothing, that we used to pay him to go away. Subscribe five francs, or thalers--according to our means, you know--and send him to play at the tables to get rid of him." "He's not a bad fellow, though, Punch Croker," said Kate. "And what I like in him is, he never lets out that he don't know every thing!" "No, that's just it!" said the tall guardsman. "Just after the Derby, I was confoundedly seedy, and my doctor told me I wanted more ozone." "What's that, Jack?" asked the man at the piano.