“Are you aware that we have three sets of men now much in request?—There are these ruffians, who affect to be desperate, who game, who drink, who fight, who will captivate you, I am sure of it. They are always just going to be destroyed, or rather talk as if they were; and every thing they do, they must do it to desperation. Then come the exquisites. Lord Dallas is one, a sort of refined _petit maître_, quite thorough bred, though full of conceit. As to the third set, your useful men, who know how to read and write, in which class critics, reviewers, politicians and poets stand, you may always know them by their slovenly appearance. But you are freezing, _mon enfant_. What can be the matter? I will release you in a moment from my visitation. I have ten thousand things to say.—Will you come to my opera box Tuesday? Are you going to the masked ball Thursday? Has Mrs. Churchill sent for you to her _déjeûné paré_. I know she wishes, more than I can express, to have you. Perhaps you will let me drive you there. My ponies are beautiful arabians: have you seen them? Oh, by the bye, why were you not at your aunt Lady Margaret’s concert? I believe it was a concert:—there was a melancholy noise in one of the rooms; but I did not attend to it.—Do you like music?”—“I do; but I must own I am not one who profess to be all enchantment at the scraping of a fiddle, because some old philharmonic plays on it; nor can I admire the gurgling and groaning of a number of foreigners, because it is called singing.”