Then we all rose like a covey of partridges, while the ladies retired in single file to the drawing-room, whither I longed to accompany them; but now the gentlemen drew their chairs closer together, side by side; Sir Nigel announced that "the business of the evening was only beginning;" the wine decanters and the claret jugs were replenished; Binns appeared with water steaming hot in an antique silver kettle, followed by a servant bearing liqueur-frames, filled with "mountain dew," for those who preferred toddy, the national beverage, to which fully half the company, including my jolly old kinsman, at once betook themselves. Somehow those "trifles light as air," which are the torments of the jealous and the doubtful, were added to fears, to crush me now. Even without the danger of a rival, I knew that "La Mère Chillingham," as the mess called her, would keep a sharp eye upon me, as the possessor of only my subaltern’s commission in the lancers, with a couple of hundred or so per annum; for she believed that all men so circumstanced were little better than well-accredited sharpers, and, as such, certain to have nefarious designs upon her wealthy and beautiful daughter—designs which our plumes, epaulettes, and lancer trappings were every way calculated to render more dangerous. I felt sure that, by such as she, even the wealthy parvenu, De Warr Berkeley, would be less dreaded than I; and as I looked round the old hall of Calderwood, and saw the grim portraits of those who had preceded me, looking disdainfully out of their stiff ruffs and long doublets, and thought of my rival’s puerile character, and his father’s beer vats, an emotion of real contempt for the cold-blooded and match-making countess stole into my heart. Louisa Loftus was, indeed, a proud and glorious beauty. I knew not yet what were my chances of success with her, and, in short, I "had nothing for it but to wait and try my best to be sanguine." The brave old axiom, that "no fortress is impregnable," is a valuable worldly lesson, and one ought never to forget that a storming party rarely fails. There was some consolation in this reflection. I took another glass of sparkling hock, another, and another, and somehow through their medium the world began to look more bright and cheering. *CHAPTER V.* Come, let us enjoy the fleeting day, And banish toil, and laugh at care, For who would grief and sorrow beat When he can throw his griefs away? Away, away! begone, I say! For mournful thought Will come unsought. BOWRING’S "POETRY OF SPAIN." "Provost," said my uncle to the jovial and rubicund magistrate who sat on his left hand, now that he had taken Cora’s place at the head of the table, "try the Johannisberg. It is some given to me by Prince Metternich when I was at Vienna, and is from grapes raised in his own vineyards. Rare stuff it is for those who like such light wines."