have fled, even if the suitor had not been an Apollo. Mrs. Pompous had, after her retirement from tuition, betaken herself to Southampton Buildings, that she might be near her brother, a topping hosier by the top of Shoe Lane. These ladies declared themselves very much dissatisfied with Brighton, because there was so many _low_ people there. “Them,” observed the veteran teacher, “are kind of creatures that one wishes to _purtect_ or _sarve_, but not to meet cheeck by jowl, when one comes to elegant society. Wilhelmina and I were quite asheamed just now to meet Miss Furbelow, the mantuamaker, who, though she knows our condition in life, had the folly to come up and speak to us as frankly and freely as if she had been our own equals.” “I do not think, mamma,” said miss, “that it was intentional presumption in the girl, but rather the thoughtless ignorance of what is due to the diversity of ranks in social life. You will observe, Mrs. Hamilton,” continued miss in the true imperative tone of preceptorial habit, “that there are different orders, situations, and professions in every well constituted society.” “A very just observation,” said our hero. Thus encouraged, she went on: “Now, I do think, that such diversity of condition should be attended to, either at private parties, or at public places; for instance, it might happen that Miss Furbelow, (proceeded Miss Pompous,) and any of us might meet in a party, one would behave civilly, and even with affability and condescension to such a person; but then, she ought to know her distance.” Here Captain Mortimer inquired how this Miss Furbelow conducted herself in company? The answer came from Mrs. Hamilton, “Very properly and genteelly.” “Is she the servant or dependent of the persons with whom she happens to associate?” “Neither.” “Then I cannot see,” said the captain, “why she is to receive affability or condescension from those with whom she is on a footing of perfect equality.” Miss, accustomed to have her dictates received as oracular truths, was much displeased with this contradiction, and answered, with angry solemnity, “that these were antediluvian notions, fit for the time of Queen Bess, not for the present.” The captain assured her, “that with regard to Queen Bess, as she called her, she was totally mistaken, both in fact and history; that degradation of useful professions befitted the remains of feudal ideas of those times much better than the enlightened wisdom of the present ages.” Miss retorted, “that he was totally wrong, and knew nothing of history when he talked so.” The captain, though acute, intelligent, and liberal, had not that perfectly fashionable polish which can completely command and disguise passions: he answered the last observation contemptuously, but desisted from farther contest. A person coming up, heartily shook our hero by the hand, and expressed his joy at seeing him. This was a little man, seemingly about thirty,