And I shook hers in the kindest way in the world; but--would you believe it?--the old cat screamed as if my hand had been a hot 'tater. “Fitzurse! Fitzurse!” shouted she, “help! help!” Up scuffled all the other Dowagers--in rushed the dancers. “Mamma! mamma!” squeaked Lady Julia North Pole. “Lead me to my mother,” howled Lady Aurorer: and both came up and flung themselves into her arms. “Wawt's the raw?” said Lord Fitzurse, sauntering up quite stately. “Protect me from the insults of this man,” says her Grace. “Where's Tufthunt? he promised that not a soul in this house should speak to me.” “My dear Duchess,” said Tufthunt, very meek. “Don't Duchess ME, sir. Did you not promise they should not speak; and hasn't that horrid tipsy wretch offered to embrace me? Didn't his monstrous wife sicken me with her odious familiarities? Call my people, Tufthunt! Follow me, my children!” “And my carriage,” “And mine,” “And mine!” shouted twenty more voices. And down they all trooped to the hall: Lady Blanche Bluenose and Lady Max among the very first; leaving only the Field-Marshal and one or two men, who roared with laughter ready to split. “Oh, Sam,” said my wife, sobbing, “why would you take me back to them? they had sent me away before! I only asked the Duchess whether she didn't like rum-shrub better than all your Maxarinos and Curasosos: and--would you believe it?--all the company burst out laughing; and the Duchess told me just to keep off, and not to speak till I was spoken to. Imperence! I'd like to tear her eyes out.” And so I do believe my dearest Jemmy would! A DAY WITH THE SURREY HOUNDS. Our ball had failed so completely that Jemmy, who was bent still upon fashion, caught eagerly at Tagrag's suggestion, and went down to Tuggeridgeville. If we had a difficulty to find friends in town, here there was none: for the whole county came about us, ate our dinners and suppers, danced at our balls--ay, and spoke to us too. We were great people in fact: I a regular country gentleman; and as such, Jemmy insisted that I should be a sportsman, and join the county hunt. “But,” says I, “my love, I can't ride.” “Pooh! Mr. C.” said she, “you're always making difficulties: you thought you couldn't dance a quadrille; you thought you couldn't dine at seven o'clock; you thought you couldn't lie in bed after six; and haven't you done every one of these things? You must and you shall ride!” And when my Jemmy said “must and shall,” I knew very well there was nothing for it: so I sent down fifty guineas to the hunt, and, out of compliment to me, the very next week, I received notice that the meet of the hounds would take place at Squashtail Common, just outside my lodge-gates.