"I lament, madam," resumed Mr. Corbold, "I may say with great and bitter lamentation, both for your sake, and that of the young person who has left the room, that the London season should be so completely over." "Sir!" said Mrs. Mowbray in an accent of almost indignant surprise, "is it possible that any friend and relation of Mr. Cartwright's can imagine that I, in my unhappy situation--or indeed, without that, as a Christian woman hoping with fear and trembling to become one of those set apart from worldly things,--is it possible, sir, that you can think I should partake, or let my daughter partake, in the corrupt sinfulness and profane rioting of a London season!" "May Heaven forgive you for so unjust a suspicion, most respected madam!" cried Mr. Corbold, clasping his hands and raising his eyes to Heaven. "The language of the saints on earth is yet new to you, most excellent and highly to be respected convert of my cousin! The London season of which I speak, and which you will hear alluded to by such sinful creatures as, like me, have reason to believe by an especial manifestation of grace that they are set apart,--the London season of which I and they speak, is that, when during about six blessed weeks in the spring, the chosen vessels resort in countless numbers to London, for the purpose of being present at all the meetings which take place during that time, with as much ardour and holy zeal as the worldly-minded show in arranging their fêtes and their fooleries at the instigation of Satan--in anticipation, as it should seem, poor deluded creatures! of the crowds that they shall hereafter meet amidst fire and brimstone in his realms below. The season of which I speak, and of which you will hear all the elect speak with rapture and thanksgiving, consists of a quick succession of splendid and soul-stirring meetings, at which all the saints on whom the gift of speech hath descended, some for one, some for two, some for three, some for four--ay, some for five hours at a time, sustained, as you may suppose, by a visible resting of the Divine power upon them. This, madam, is the season that, for your sake, and for the sake of the fair young person your daughter, I wished was not yet over." Mrs. Mowbray made a very penitent and full apology for the blunder she had committed, and very meekly confessed her ignorance, declaring that she had never before heard the epithet of "London season" given to any thing so heavenly-minded and sublime as the meetings he described.