P. S. If Sir S. would rather have my own acceptance, let him draw for a hundred, at three months, and I 'm ready; but don't disappoint me, one way or other. Wood is fifteen florins a “klafter” here, now, and I 've nobody to cut it when it comes home, as Andy took a slice out of his shin on Friday last with the hatchet, and is in bed ever since. Vegetables, too, is dear; and since Frank went, we never see a bit of game. 2nd P. S. If you had such a thing as a warm winter cloak that you did n't want, you might send it to Nelly. She goes out in a thing like a bit of brown paper, and the wooden shoes is mighty unhandy with her lameness. Mind the bill. “You are writing a rather lengthy despatch, Dalton,” said Foglass, who had twice dozed off to sleep, and woke again, only to see him still occupied with his epistle. “It's done now,” said Dalton, with a sigh; for, without well knowing why, he was not quite satisfied with the performance. “I wish you 'd just add a line, to say that Mrs. Ricketts, Mrs. Major-General Ricketts, who resides at Florence, is so desirous to know her. You can mention that she is one of the first people, but so exclusive about acquaintance, that it is almost impossible to get presented to her; but that this coming winter the Embassy will, in all likelihood, open a door to so desirable an object.” “Lady Hester will know her, of course?” said Dalton, whose sense of proprieties was usually clear enough when selfishness did not interfere, “and I don't see that my daughter should extend her acquaintance through any other channel.” “Oh, very true; it's of no consequence. I only meant it as an attention to Miss Dalton; but your observation is very just,” said Foglass, who suddenly felt that he was on dangerous ground. “Depend upon 't, Fogles, my daughter is in the best society of the place, whatever it is. It 's not a Dalton would be left out.” Foglass repeated his most implicit conviction in this belief, and did all in his power to efface the memory of the suggestion, but without success. Family pride was a kind of birdlime with old Dalton, and if he but touched, he could not leave it. The consequences, however, went no further than a long and intricate dissertation on the Dalton blood for several centuries back, through which Foglass slept just as soundly as the respected individuals there recorded, and was only awoke at last by Dalton rising to take leave, an event at last suggested by the empty decanter. “And now, Fogles,” said he, summing up, “you'll not wonder, that if we 're poor we 're proud. I suppose you never heard of a better stock than that since you were born?” “Never, by Jove! Guelphs, Ghibellines, and Hapsburgs are nothing to them. Good-night, good-night! I 'll take care of your letter. It shall go to-morrow in the Embassy bag.” CHAPTER XXXII. AN INVASION.