About eleven next day, a crazy machine, in the days of our grandfathers called a noddy, appeared at Mrs. Martin's door. In it was seated Mr. Lucas in his best black suit and flaxen wig, with his gold-headed cane between his knees, his hands being sufficiently occupied in reining an ill-trimmed carthorse, every movement of whose powerful hind leg threatened destruction to the awkward vehicle. The good humoured Lucy soon skipped in, and seated herself as bodkin; but to mount Mrs. Martin was a task of greater difficulty, as the gig was of considerable altitude, and the horse, teased by the flies, could not be kept quiet two minutes at a time; a chair was first produced without effect, but at last, with the aid of her maid Peggy, the neighbouring smith, and the kitchen steps commonly used to wind up the jack, she was fairly seated; and ere her laughter or her fears had subsided, they overtook the village postchaise, containing Mr. and Mrs. Crosbie, and Mrs. and Miss Lucas.—The travellers in the gig were incommoded by a dusty road, and a beaming hot sun; the effects of which were dreaded by the good aunt for Lucy's blue silk bonnet and spencer, which had been purchased two years before, during their above-mentioned visit to London, which was still their frequent theme, and only standard of fashion. However, they proceeded on the whole much to their satisfaction, and after driving nearly six miles, reached an ostentatious porter's lodge and gate, a close copy of that at Sion, which announced the entrance to Webberly House. The approach, with doublings and windings that would have puzzled the best harrier in Sussex, did not accomplish concealing the house at any one sweep, but displayed to Lucy's delighted eyes a huge pile—ci-devant brick, now glorying in a coat of Roman cement, further adorned with clumsy virandas due north and east, and an open porch in the southern sun. On one side of the proud mansion was a sunk fence, and ha! ha!—on the other a shrubbery, quite inadequate to the task assigned it of hiding the glaring brick-wall of a kitchen garden, which occupied nearly as large a space as the whole of the pleasure-ground in front.

On the scanty lawn was pitched a marquÉe; at the foot of it was a pond filled with gold and silver fishes, over which was suspended a Chinese bridge, leading to a grotto and hermitage, at a small distance from the house.—Mr. Lucas, resigning the reins to Lucy, alighted to give notice of the arrival of the party. After a few minutes delay, hasty footsteps were heard in the hall, and a couple of house-maids scudded across, bearing dust-pans and brushes, and running down one of the side passages, called out in no very gentle voice, "William! Edward! here's company!" "Company!" yawned out William, while he stretched his arms to their utmost length, and, as he stopped to look at his fine watch, which, as well as his master's, had numerous seals with French mottos, declared "Pon honour, it isn't one o'clock;" and wondered "what could bring those country-folk at that time o'day!"—then, settling his cravat with one hand, and pulling up his gallowses with the other, leisurely walked to the porch, where, with a gesture between leering and bowing, he most incoherently answered the question of "At home, or not at home;" and without giving himself the trouble of thinking which was actually the case, ushered the visitors into the drawing-room, leaving the business of negotiating their audience to the lady's maid.

The beaming sun displayed the unsubsided dust and motes the house-maids had so lately raised, and the village party were nearly stifled with the effluvia of countless hot-house plants, whose united scent was too strong to be called perfume: their entrance was impeded by stools, cushions, tabourets, squabs, ottomans, fauteuils, sofas, screens, bookstands, flower-stands, and tables of all sorts and sizes. An unguarded push endangered the china furniture of a writing-table, and a painted velvet cushion laid Mr. Crosbie prostrate on the floor. Mr. Lucas, perceiving the difficulties of the navigation, very quietly seated himself behind the door, but not in peace—for he was nearly stunned by the chatter and contentions of a paroquet and a macaw, joined to the shrill song of some indefatigable canaries hung on the outside of the opposite window, which scarcely outvied the yelping of a lap-dog, that Mrs. Martin's centre of gravity had discomfited, when she seated herself in one of the fauteuils. Meantime, Lucy and Nancy, with considerable expertness, gratified themselves with examining the furniture, a task which would probably have occupied them for a week, as the incongruous mixture seemed to resemble the emptying of an upholsterer's room, a china manufactory, and a print-shop. The curtains, five to a window, were hung for all seasons of the year at once, and consisted of rich cloth, scarlet moreen, brilliant chintz, delicate silk, and white muslin, to serve as blinds, fringed with gold. The sofa and chair tribe (for to designate them would require a nomenclature as accurate and extensive as Lavoisier's chemical one,) were covered with every shade of colour, every variety of texture, and were in form Grecian, Chinese, Roman, Egyptian, Parisian, Gothic, and Turkish. The astonished visitors remained in the silence of perplexity for nearly a quarter of an hour, but it was then broken by Mrs. Crosbie exclaiming, with her usual acrimony—"Well, I'm sure, if I was Mrs. Sullivan, and was forced to go to a pawnbroker's for my settee and chair-frames, I would at least make my covers all of a piece!—What folks will do to make up a show!—I'm sure those musty old chests an't a whit better than what's in my grandmother's garret; and I gave my little William the other day, for a play-thing, a china image as like that white woman and child as two peas."—"Though to be sure all these are very fine," said Mrs. Martin, "Sir Henry Seymour's is the house for me; three drawing-rooms with not a pin difference; and up stairs always six bed-rooms of a pattern—then Mrs. Galton is so neat! not a cobweb to be seen in the house.—Bless me, Lucy! your cheek is all dirty, and your gloves such a figure!"—"Why, don't you see," interrupted Mrs. Crosbie, "that the china is brimfull of dust! such slattern folks, pshaw!"—To all which Mrs. Lucas returned her usual assenting, "He—hem!" Mr. Lucas, in time recovering from his first dismay, rose from "The place of his unrest," and, with Mr. Crosbie, proceeded to examine the contents of a mongrel article between a cabinet and a table, on which were thrown rather than placed a variety of curiosities; such as, a stuffed hog-in-armour, a case of tropical birds, flying-fish, sharks' jaws, a petrified lobster, edible swallows' nests, and Chinese balls; with numerous mineral specimens neatly labelled, zeolite, mica, volcanic glass, tourmaline, &c. "Multum in parvo," said Mr. Crosbie, with a smirk at his own latinity; "Young Mr. Webberly must be vastly learned," replied Mr. Lucas, "I should like to talk to him about the plants of the West Indies, and the practice of physic in those parts, for all the planters are obliged to attend to the health of the poor negroes for their own profit, if they don't do it for humanity's sake." Here the good man was electrified by a violent ringing of bells, followed by the sound of a sharp female voice, running through all the notes of the gamut in a scolding tone, of which the visitors could only hear detached sentences, such as, "I insist upon it, you never let them in again—how could you say we were at home? Can I never drive into your silly pate, that we are never at home to a hired post chaise, or to any open carriage, except a curricle and two out-riders, or a landaulet and four?"—"It wasn't me, Miss, it was William; I always attend to your directions ma'am—I denied you the other day to your own uncle and aunt, because they came in a buggy."—"Uncle, Sir! I have no uncle.—Well, I give orders at the porter's lodge to-morrow—Go and ask Miss Wildenheim to receive them; and if she won't, say we are all out; I tell you once for all, I never will be disturbed at my morning studies till four o'clock, and then not except by people of condition." Soon after this tirade, a light foot crossing the hall prepared the confounded party for the entrance of the Iris of this angry Juno. But when Miss Wildenheim opened the door, her elegantly affable curtsy and benignant smile dispersed the gathering frowns on the visages of the disappointed groupe.

This young lady's politeness proceeded from the workings of a kind heart guided by a clear head: it was a polish which owed its lustre to the intrinsic value of the gem it embellished, not a superficial varnish spread over a worthless substance, which a slight collision would destroy, rendering the flaws it had for a time concealed but the more conspicuous. With one glance of her dark eye she perceived, that the good people were offended, and while she made the best apology she could for the non-appearance of the Webberly family, her cheek glowed with indignation at their insolent carriage to modest worth: the attentive suavity of her manner was more than usually pleasing to the unassuming but insulted party, and her endeavours to soothe their wounded pride were quickly rewarded with the success they merited. Miss Wildenheim in turn enquired for all the relations of each individual present, whose existence had ever come to her knowledge; and in her search after appropriate conversation, put in requisition every other subject of chit-chat, her small stock of that current coin furnished her with. But now—"the eloquent blood," which had spoken "in her cheek and so divinely wrought," no longer tinging it with "vermeil hues," her pallidity struck Mrs. Martin's kind heart with a pang of sorrow. "My dear Miss Wildenheim," said she, in a tone that showed the epithet was not a word of course, "I'm afraid your visit to London has not agreed as well with you as ours did with Lucy and me, you don't look so fresh coloured as you did in the beginning of spring." "Ah! Mrs. Martin," interrupted Mr. Lucas, "that high colour was a hectic symptom, I am not altogether sorry to see it has disappeared; I hope, Miss Wildenheim, you have nearly recovered from the effects of that smart fever you had last winter." With a look of thanks to both enquirers, Mr. Lucas' ci-devant patient replied, "Perfectly, my dear Sir; it must have been a most inveterate disorder, that could have baffled the skill and kind attention—you exerted for my benefit." Mr. Lucas sapiently shook his head, and expressed his doubts as to her perfect recovery. "Believe me, Sir, I feel quite well, my illness was only caused by change of climate." At the word climate, the heretofore placid brow of the fair speaker was clouded by an expression of ill-concealed anguish; for that word had conjured up the remembrance of days of hope and joy—of tenderness, on which the grave had closed for ever! which with all the ardency of youthful feeling, alike poignant in sorrow as in joy, she contrasted, in thought's utmost rapidity, with the dreary present, where each day glided like its predecessor down the stream of time, uncheered by the converse of a kindred mind, unblessed by the smile of affectionate love.

To hide her emotion she rose to ring the bell, apparently for the purpose of ordering a luncheon, which it was the etiquette of the neighbourhood to present to every morning visitor. The greater part of the family were, at that moment, at breakfast, and therefore the summons was not quickly obeyed; but at length a tray was brought in, glittering in all the luxury of china, plate, and glass, and loaded with cold meat, fruit, and a variety of confectionary, at the names or contents of which Mrs. Martin's utmost knowledge of cookery could not enable her to guess. However as she did not consider ignorance in this instance as bliss, she immediately commenced her acquaintance with them; and the whole party, having done ample justice to the repast, prepared to depart; and it was settled that as steps could not easily be procured, the arrangement of the vehicles should be changed, Miss Lucas resigning her place in the post chaise to Mrs. Martin.

Miss Wildenheim had scarcely made her farewell curtsy at the door, when as the carriages drove off Mrs. Martin exclaimed, "What a sweet young lady Miss Wildenheim is." "Oh!" said Mrs. Crosbie, "those French misses have always honey on their lips." "I wonder how she happens to speak such good English, for her eyes, complexion, and accent are quite foreign," observed her spouse. "And I hope you'll add, her manner too," returned the lady: "I was quite ashamed of her when she first came to Webberly House, she used to have so many antics with her hands; now she is something like; but though we have improved her, still her countenance has never the exact same look three minutes together; and if you say a civil thing to her, she grows as red as if you had slapped her in the face." "Mr. Temple told me," said Mrs. Martin, "that she grieved more after Mr. Sullivan, when he died last January, than all the rest of the family put together. He told me one day, poor man, that she was the daughter of a German baron." "Ah, Mrs. Martin," interrupted Mr. Crosbie, laughing, "I'm afraid there was a mistake of gender and case there; a Baronness perhaps she might be daughter to, as an action might lie against me for defamation, I won't say by whom." "You are both wrong," said his wife, "for Mrs. Sullivan's maid informed me, (and she knows but every thing) that Miss Wildenheim was Mr. Sullivan's natural daughter by a German Princess (God forgive him), when he was a general in the Austrian service. I dare say she is a papist, for he was a papist, and they are all papists in foreign parts." "Papist or not," replied Mrs. Martin, "I'm sure she practises the Christian virtue of humility; I wish Miss Webberly would take example by her, and learn to be civil." "I never saw any thing like the airs of the whole family," rejoined Mrs. Crosbie, bursting with passion. "I'll take care to affront them, the very first time they put their noses in Deane." Here Mr. Crosbie took the alarm, for he recollected certain deeds and conveyances, young Webberly had spoken to him about, and therefore said, "Indeed, my dear, we have no right to be offended; it's only the way of the house: didn't you hear the footman tell Miss Webberly he had refused to let in her own uncle, and after all, she didn't object to us, but only to the gig and postchaise." After some bitter observations, followed by silent reflection, Mrs. Crosbie apparently acceded to her husband's argument, and consented to acquit the Webberlys on the flaw his ingenuity had discovered in the indictment she had made out against them.

In the humble society of Deane even she had inferiors, in whose eyes her consequence was raised by her annual visits at Webberly House; and who never guessed that the rudeness she practised to them, was a mere transfer of that she submitted to receive from the insolent caprice of these satellites of fashion.

From whence does the strange infatuation arise, that makes so many people in all ranks of society suppose, they are honoured by the acquaintance of that immediately above them, when their intercourse is so frequently only an interchange of insult and servility? Do they suppose, that when the scale of their consequence is kicked down on one side, it rises proportionally on the other?

The comments of the travellers on the Webberly family continued for the remainder of the drive; and perhaps had the objects of their animadversions heard their remarks, they might have felt, that the proud privilege of being impertinent scarcely compensated for the severity of the criticism its exertion called forth.

At length the party separated—Mrs. Crosbie to show a new edition of fine airs to the wondering Mrs. Slater—the other ladies to discuss their excursion again and again, over "cups which cheer, but not inebriate."