"Oh dear, yes! I have seen quantities of seventy-fours there; though, indeed, I am not quite sure if it wasn't at _Splithead_. Give me the smelling salts, Charlotte, love; mine does ache indeed! How subject the dear Duchess of Rutland was to headaches; you did not know the Duchess of Rutland?--no, to be sure, what am I thinking of? you're too young; but those were the charming days! You have heard, of course, the duchess's _bon mot_ in reply to the compliment of Lord ----, but I must not mention his name, because there was some scandal about them; but the gentleman said to the duchess--I must tell you she was Isabella, Duchess of Rutland--and he said, 'Isabelle _is_ a _belle_,' to which the duchess replied, 'Isabelle _was_ a _belle_.'" "Vewy neat, indeed!" said Furlong. "Ah! poor thing," said the dowager, with a sigh, "she was beginning to be a little _passee_ then;" she looked in the glass herself, and added, "Dear me, how pale I am this morning!" and pulling out one of the little drawers from the Japan looking-glass, she took out a pot of rouge and heightened the colour on her cheek. The old lady not only heightened her own colour, but that of the witnesses--of Furlong particularly, who was _quite_ surprised. "Why am I so very pale this morning, Charlotte love?" continued the old lady. "You sit up so late reading, grandmamma." "Ah, who can resist the fascination of the muses? You are fond of literature, I hope, sir?" "Extwemely," replied Furlong. "As a statesman," continued the old lady--to whom Furlong made a deep obeisance at the word "statesman"--"as a statesman, of course your reading lies in the more solid department; but if you ever _do_ condescend to read a romance, there is the sweetest thing I ever met I am just now engaged in; it is called 'The Blue Robber of the Pink Mountain.' I have not come to the pink mountain yet, but the blue robber is the most perfect character. The author, however, is guilty of a strange forgetfulness; he begins by speaking of the robber as of the middle age, and soon after describes him as a young man. Now, how could a young man be of the middle age?" "It seems a stwange inaccuwacy," lisped Furlong. "But poets sometimes pwesume on the pwivelege they have of doing what they please with their hewoes." "Quite true, sir. And talking of heroes, I hope the Knights of St. Patrick are well--I do admire them so much!--'t is so interesting to see their banners and helmets hanging up in St. Patrick's Cathedral, that venerable pile!--with the loud peal of the organ--sublime--isn't it?--the banners almost tremble in the vibration of the air to the loud swell of the 'A-a-a-men!'--the very banners seem to wave 'Amen!' Oh, that swell is so fine!--I think they are fond of swells in the choir; they have a good effect, and some of the young men are so good looking!--and the little boys, too--I suppose they are choristers' children?"