"Albina met with them at the lodgings of Mrs. Washington Potts," pursued Mrs. Marsden, "where they have been staying a week for the benefit of country air; and so she enclosed her card, and sent them invitations to her party. They have as yet returned no answer; but that is no proof they will not come, for perhaps it may be the newest fashion in England not to answer notes." "You know the English are a very peculiar people," remarked Albina. "And what other lions have you provided?" said Cheston. "Oh! no others except a poet," replied Albina. "Have you never heard of Bewley Garvin Gandy?" "Never!" answered Cheston. "Is that all one man?" "Nonsense," replied Albina; "you know that poets generally have three names. B. G, G. was formerly Mr. Gandy's signature when he wrote only for the newspapers, but now since he has come out in the magazines, and annuals, and published his great poem of the World of Sorrow, he gives his name at full length. He has tried law, physic, and divinity, and has resigned all for the Muses. He is a great favourite of Mrs. Washington Potts." "And now, Albina," said Cheston, "as I know you can have but little leisure to-day, I will only detain you while you indulge me with 'Auld lang syne'--I see the piano has been moved out into the porch." "Yes," said Mrs. Marsden, "on account of the parlour papering." "Oh! Bromley Cheston," exclaimed Albina, "do not ask me to play any of those antediluvian Scotch songs. Mrs. Washington Potts cannot tolerate anything but Italian." Cheston, who had no taste for Italian, immediately took his hat, and apologizing for the length of his stay, was going away with the thought that Albina had much deteriorated in growing up. "We shall see you this evening without the ceremony of a further invitation?" said Albina. "Of course," replied Cheston. "I quite long to introduce you to Mrs. Washington Potts," said Mrs. Marsden. "What simpletons these women are!" thought Cheston, as he hastily turned to depart. "The big plum-cake's burnt to a coal," said Drusa, putting her head out of the kitchen door. Both the ladies were off in an instant to the scene of disaster. And Cheston returned to his hotel, thinking of Mrs. Potts (whom he had made up his mind to dislike), of the old adage that "evil communication corrupts good manners," and of the almost irresistible contagion of folly and vanity. "I am disappointed in Albina," said he; "in future I will regard her only as my mother's niece, and more than a cousin she shall never be to me."