——The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on. Pity the unhappy, said a devout, venerable, hoary-headed man, meekly holding up a box, begirt with iron, in his withered hands——I beg for the unfortunate—good my Lady, ’tis for a prison—for an hospital—’tis for an old man—a poor man undone by shipwreck, by suretyship, by fire——I call God and all his angels to witness——’tis to clothe the naked——to feed the hungry——’tis to comfort the sick and the broken-hearted. The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on. A decayed kinsman bowed himself to the ground. ——The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on. He ran begging bare-headed on one side of her palfrey, conjuring her by the former bonds of friendship, alliance, consanguinity, &c.——Cousin, aunt, sister, mother,——for virtue’s sake, for your own, for mine, for Christ’s sake, remember me——pity me. ——The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on. Take hold of my whiskers, said the Lady _Baussiere_—The page took hold of her palfrey. She dismounted at the end of the terrace. There are some trains of certain ideas which leave prints of themselves about our eyes and eye-brows; and there is a consciousness of it, somewhere about the heart, which serves but to make these etchings the stronger—we see, spell, and put them together without a dictionary. Ha, ha! he, hee! cried _La Guyol_ and _La Sabatiere_, looking close at each other’s prints——Ho, ho! cried _La Battarelle_ and _Maronette_, doing the same:—Whist! cried one—ft, ft,—said a second—hush, quoth a third—poo, poo, replied a fourth—gramercy! cried the Lady _Carnavallette;_——’twas she who bewhisker’d St. _Bridget._ _La Fosseuse_ drew her bodkin from the knot of her hair, and having traced the outline of a small whisker, with the blunt end of it, upon one side of her upper lip, put in into _La Rebours_’ hand—_La Rebours_ shook her head. The Lady _Baussiere_ coughed thrice into the inside of her muff—_La Guyol_ smiled—Fy, said the Lady _Baussiere._ The queen of _Navarre_ touched her eye with the tip of her fore-finger—as much as to say, I understand you all. ’Twas plain to the whole court the word was ruined: _La Fosseuse_ had given it a wound, and it was not the better for passing through all these defiles——It made a faint stand, however, for a few months, by the expiration of which, the Sieur _De Croix_, finding it high time to leave _Navarre_ for want of whiskers——the word in course became indecent, and (after a few efforts) absolutely unfit for use. The best word, in the best language of the best world, must have suffered under such combinations.——The curate of _d’Estella_ wrote a book against them, setting forth the dangers of accessory ideas, and warning the _Navarois_ against them.