dreads is a reflection, for that leads off from the point. A
portion of her mind she keeps to combat them in Lady Jocelyn and others who have
the tendency: the rest she divides between internal prayers for succour, and
casting about for another popular subject to follow partridges. Now, mere
talent, as critics say when they are lighting candles round a genius, mere
talent would have hit upon pheasants as the natural sequitur, and then diverged
to sports - a great theme, for it ensures a chorus of sneers at foreigners, and
so on probably to a discussion of birds and beasts best adapted to enrapture the
palate of man. Stories may succeed, but they are doubtful, and not to be
trusted, coming after cookery. After an exciting subject which has made the
general tongue to wag, and just enough heated the brain to cause it to cry out
for spiced food - then start your story: taking care that it be mild; for one
too marvellous stops the tide, the sense of climax being strongly implanted in
all bosoms. So the Countess told an anecdote - one of Mel's. Mr. George Uploft
was quite familiar with it, and knew of one passage that would have abashed him
to relate »before ladies.« The sylph-like ease with which the Countess floated
over this foul abysm was miraculous. Mr. George screwed his eye-lids queerly,
and closed his jaws with a report, completely beaten. The anecdote was of the
character of an apologue, and pertained to game. This was, as it happened, a
misfortune; for Mr. Raikes had felt himself left behind by the subject; and the
stuff that was in this young man being naturally ebullient, he lay by to trip
it, and take a lead. His remarks brought on him a shrewd cut from the Countess,
which made matters worse; for a pun may also breed puns, as doth an anecdote.
The Countess's stroke was so neat and perfect that it was something for the
gentlemen to think over; and to punish her for giving way to her cleverness and
to petty vexation, »Hem!« sounded once more, and then: »May I ask you if the
present Baronet is in England?«
    Lady Jocelyn perceived that some attack was directed against her guest. She
allowed the Countess to answer: -
    »The eldest was drowned in the Lisbon waters«:
    And then said: »But who is it that persists in serving up the funeral baked
meats to us?«
    Mrs. Shorne spoke for her neighbour: »Mr. Farnley'