“Mr. Vivian Grey,” said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, “I cannot understand why you have been talking to Mr. Toad so long. Will you waltz?” Before Vivian could answer, a tittering, so audible that it might almost be termed a shout, burst forth from the whole room. Cynthia Courtown had stolen behind Lord Alhambra, as he was sitting on an ottoman a la Turque, and had folded a cashmere shawl round his head with a most Oriental tie. His Lordship, who, notwithstanding his eccentricities, was really a very amiable man, bore his blushing honours with a gracious dignity worthy of a descendant of the Abencerrages. The sensation which this incident occasioned favoured Vivian’s escape from Mrs. Felix, for he had not left Mr. Stapylton Toad with any intention of waltzing. But he had hardly escaped from the waltzers ere he found himself in danger of being involved in a much more laborious duty; for now he stumbled on the Political Economist, and he was earnestly requested by the contending theorists to assume the office of moderator. Emboldened by his success. Liberal Snake had had the hardihood to attack a personage of whose character he was not utterly ignorant, but on whom he was extremely desirous of “making an impression.” This important person was Sir Christopher Mowbray, who, upon the lecturer presuming to inform him “what rent was,” damned himself several times from sheer astonishment at the impudence of the fellow. I don’t wish to be coarse, but Sir Christopher is a great man, and the sayings of great men, particularly when they are representative of the sentiment of a species, should not pass unrecorded.