"Ah!" cried I, taking hold of Lady Babbleton's shawl, "what a pretty Manchester pattern this is." "Manchester pattern!" exclaimed the petrified peeress; "why it is real cachemere: you don't think I wear any thing English, Mr. Pelham?" "I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons. I am no judge of dress; but to return--I am quite of your opinion, that we ought to encourage our own manufactories, and not go abroad: but one cannot stay long on the Continent, even if one is decoyed there. One soon longs for home again." "Very sensibly remarked," rejoined Lady Babbleton: "that's what I call true patriotism and morality. I wish all the young men of the present day were like you. Oh, dear!--here's a great favourite of mine coming this way--Mr. Ritson!--do you know him; shall I introduce you?" "God forbid!" exclaimed I--frightened out of my wits, and my manners. "Come, Lady Harriett, let us rejoin Sir Lionel;" and, "swift at the word," Lady Harriett retook my arm, nodded her adieu to Lady Babbleton, and withdrew with me to an obscurer part of the room. Here we gave way to our laughter for some time, till, at last, getting weary of the Cheltenham Cleopatra, I reminded Lady Harriett of her promise to name to me the various personages of the assemblage. "Eh bien," began Lady Harriett; "d'abord, you observe that very short person, somewhat more than inclined to enbonpoint?" "What, that thing like a Chinese tumbler--that peg of old clothes--that one foot square of mortality, with an aquatic-volucrine face, like a spoonbill?"