Apropos of the portraits--I've heard of a queer Contretemps which befell the most famous last year; I mean of Sir Arthur, who saved the Black Prince,-- Excuse my not knowing how many years since. It seems a young lady--Miss Blanche Delarue-- One day on a visit to Fifth Avenue, While carelessly chatting and sipping some sherbet, Was shown the fine portrait of Arthur Fitz-Herbert, Which, Augustus assured her, as an heirloom Was more valued than anything else in the room, And proceeded to speak of the well-deserved fame Of Sir Arthur Fitz-Herbert, the first of his name, With a few of those actions of gallant emprise, Which have made him so great in Posterity's eyes; Or, at least, that small part which, like Miss Delarue, Are on visiting terms in the Fifth Avenue. In the midst of his story conceive his amaze, When his visitor, after a long, earnest gaze At the portrait before her, approaching, let fall On the tapestry carpet plate, sherbet, and all, Which, scattered with fragments of fine porcelain, Must have suffered, I fear, an indelible stain. While standing aghast at a breach of propriety Which rarely occurs in the best of society, He was startled still more, as I cannot but own, When the lady exclaimed, in a deeply-moved tone, In reply to his feebly-expressed "Never mind it," "That's my grandfather's portrait! O, where did you find it?" Which indeed was the case, being sold at vendue, Some years since, when the father of Blanche Delarue Had lost for the time both his wealth and high station, By indulging too largely in land speculation. The unlucky portrait, I scarcely need say, Was at once taken down, but soon after replaced By another as stately, though somewhat defaced,-- A clear mark of age, and which, by the way, On Fitz-Herbert's assurance I'm glad to be able To say was a knight of the Famous Round Table.