Mr. Tippetson, who had desired to immortalise himself by an elopement with a lady of rank, now that the Countess of Trimmerstone was in his power, did not feel quite so proud of his conquest as he had anticipated and fancied. There is nothing in rank where there is no distance and reserve. The Countess, even before they had reached Dover, began to appear to him as a weak, silly woman. Now, if in stealing a countess, he had stolen the title of earl for himself, he might have been more proud of his exploit; but as it was, he still kept the name of Mr. Tippetson, and his poor simpleton of a companion had no name at all. Then again he could not enjoy the pleasure of hearing himself talked about in the fashionable circles. He saw very soon in the newspapers that he gained celebrity by the elopement, but he could not hear any remarks upon the subject. He very soon found that his companion was no companion; and therefore, with mighty energy and resignation, he determined to make the best of a bad bargain. It is a great pity that the Countess had not come to that resolution before she left her husband. Here again we have a lesson for married ladies; and beg most respectfully and kindly to inform them, that it is much more inconvenient to be neglected by a seducer, than to be neglected by a husband. Mr. Tippetson was a man of the world; but he did not know much of the world, especially of the world of Paris. It is very good that English people in the one shilling gallery should believe that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen, and that they generally do believe till they try; but one simple Englishman, like Mr. Tippetson, may generally be beaten by one Frenchman at games of skill or chance in the Palais-Royal. The perfumed seducer found out this to his cost; and thereupon the Countess of Trimmerstone became more inconveniently expensive to him. There arose also another inconvenience to the young gentleman, viz. her ladyship’s prodigious vulgarity. He could never be seen with her in public. The Parisian ladies used to stare at her, though she thought herself prodigiously fine. Mr. Tippetson accommodated himself to the people among whom he dwelt. The Countess began soon to grow sulky, because she had no society. Tippetson thought his own society quite enough for her ladyship. By degrees that society was more and more curtailed: sometimes he left her for a whole day; and sometimes he was absent day and night; and sometimes he would stay from her ladyship two or three days successively. This was very sad, but she had no remedy. To utter angry reproaches she dared not; she could only plead pathetically, and call him unkind, and use the gentlest tones of expostulation. Her ladyship was far more afraid of Mr. Tippetson than ever she had been of her husband, and was much more careful of offending him by look, word, or deed. On the other hand, the gentleman was sooner weary of the Countess than he would have been of a