Bogberry Hall was the abode of mirth and glee: there was nothing but rattling, and ranting, and singing, and dancing, from morning till night. The family living in it, consisted of nine happy children, with an indulgent, tender mother, remarkable for nothing, except her good nature, and careful attention to their wants and pleasures. This house was never without company staying in it, principally relations; for the Desmonds had first, second, and third cousins innumerable. The actual income of the family was not large, in proportion to their numbers; but the advantage of situation supplied them with almost every thing they consumed at a low rate; and many rents, that a non-resident would have found it impossible to get, were compounded for, partly in kind, partly in labour. When any body condoled with Mr. Desmond on his large family, he used to say, "The more the merrier; there never was a child sent into the world, that it did not bring its portion with it; I wish I had thirty of them." Calming his mind with this idea, he determined to make them, as long as he was alive, as merry as possible; for, in his vocabulary, merriment and happiness were synonymous. A very necessary part of his establishment, for this purpose, were two fiddlers and a piper. One of the former was then absent on rather a singular errand.—Miss Sophy Desmond had been put to school at Galway, and he was sent to board in the same house, that he might play for her to dance every evening, and "keep her from thinking long after home." The cause of Sophy's being sent to school was as singular as her strange accompaniment. One of Melicent's favourite pastimes the year before had been to get up on the horses that carried fish, poultry, or eggs, in a sort of open panniers called creels, to her father's house for sale; and whilst her mother was giving a dram, or buying chickens three to the couple, away she went "o'er moor and mountain," amusing herself with the alarm she should cause, and the hunt there would be after her. One day a horse was brought to Bogberry Hall, carrying two wooden churns, one containing eggs, the other buttermilk. Melicent scrambled up the side, and seating herself between them, off she set; but while she was galloping along much to her satisfaction, in making a leap over a pit in the bog before her father's gate, the covers of the churns came off, and she was soused with the milk on one side, and pelted with the eggs on the other. The horse took fright, and carried her in this condition miles round the country, without hat or cloak. She was at last met by some gentlemen, who brought her home, her clothes dripping wet, and her face and hair stiff with the contents of the egg shells. The conclusion her friends drew from this adventure was, that as Melicent was quite spoiled, Sophy must be sent to school directly. Miss Desmond's coadjutor in all such pranks (which however she had much intermitted since the above-mentioned unlucky day) was her brother Launcelot, an arch boy, one year younger than herself, who, to plague his cousin "Dilly," as he called Mr. Donolan, now pretended to be yet more unpolished than he really was. These two were standing in the window of their mother's drawing-room, on the day on which she expected the party from Ballinamoyle to dinner, when they espied Mrs. O'Sullivan's gaudy equipage at some distance. "There, Melicent," said Launcelot, "there comes Tidy-ideldy and Big bow bow," as he had christened the two Miss Webberlys. "I declare, Lanty," replied his sister, "when I saw that ugly Miss Webberly at dinner the other day, with half a rose tree on her head, I could scarcely keep from saying to you, that she was 'the devil in a bush.'" "Oh fie, Melicent!" said Colonel Desmond, with an ill-suppressed smile, "such a great girl as you ought not to encourage that rude boy; it would be much more becoming for you to think of receiving your guests with politeness, than to employ yourself in finding names for them." "Don't be angry, uncle dear," said Melicent, coaxingly, "and I'll call her London Pride; and that dear beautiful Miss Wildenheim is Venus's looking-glass:—you have no objection to be Flos Adonis, uncle, I'm sure. Oh! I wish I was like her, and then you'd be quite pleas'd with me." "My dearest Melicent," said he, fondly, "I don't wish you to be like any body but yourself; only control your spirits to-day, that's a good girl."

In another window Mr. Donolan was expatiating on the merits of frogs stewed in red champaigne, as he had eat them at the CafÉ de mille Colonnes; whilst his auditor, Mr. Desmond, was assiduously drawing up his mouth into a whistle, his usual preventive of mal À propos laughter. His lady was preparing to receive her guests on their entrance, which she did with much kindness, and with the ease of a person well accustomed to the office. The ladies from Ballinamoyle were escorted only by Captain Cormac, as Mr. Webberly had unfortunately sprained his ancle that morning too severely to admit of his moving off a couch, and his host remained at home in order to show him proper attention, and Father Dermoody never formed one of so large a party.

The company, when assembled, besides the party from Ballinamoyle and the Desmond family, consisted of the curate of the parish, the physician of the neighbourhood, a music-master, occasionally resident at Bogberry Hall, two smart beaux on a visit there from Limerick, and three very handsome girls of the name of Nevil, whom Mr. Desmond introduced to the English ladies as "Battle, Murder, and Sudden Death."

Miss Fitzcarril had hoped much from the effects of a rose-coloured satin gown and orange turban, on the heart of her promised spouse; and therefore great was her disappointment, and unfeigned were her expressions of regret, when she lamented the accident, which deprived the party of his "agreeable society." Miss Webberly, resolving to take the dilettante's affections by a coup de main, had that day employed herself in a reperusal of the portable CyclopÆdia, and had no less attended to the embellishment of her person, which she attired À la Minerve, to give him a delicate proof of her just appreciation of his compliments.

But Cecilia Webberly lost no time in commencing a flirtation with him, for the sole purpose of plaguing her "sweet Meely." In this however she was disappointed, for he complimented the mind of the one nearly as much as the person of the other, hoping thus to earn an equal portion of the "diet of good humour" for himself, which was as necessary to the comfort of his moral existence, as the daily aliments which were required for his physical being. For the purpose of receiving and bestowing flattery, he took a favourable opportunity, afforded by a pause in conversation, of producing a gold fillagree case, in which a few yards of pink riband were rolled up, which some milliner of the Palais Royal had persuaded him to buy, in order to mark them with the dimensions of the celebrated statues in the Louvre; and he had thus indefatigably measured every wrist, waist, head, and ancle of the collection; and now as unremittingly solicited every lady of his acquaintance to apply this test of symmetry to the corresponding parts of her own person. And many a female heart beat with anxious expectation as she passed the girdle of various Venuses round Her waist, in hopes some one might prove a fit cestus for herself.

By a little false play, Felix now proved Cecilia to be the exact counterpart of the celebrated Amazon of the Hall of the Laocoon, which considerably raised her in his and her own estimation. Mr. Desmond, seeing him preparing to roll this new line of beauty up, called him over, and whispered loud enough for Adelaide, who was sitting close by, to hear, "The ladies will be affronted if you don't measure them all, Dilly; it looks as if you didn't think they would be the right fit:—begin with Miss Wildenheim; I'll be bound the belt of the Venus de Medici will fit her as 'nate as a Limerick glove.'"

When the dilettante, in the most affected manner possible, presented Adelaide with the portion of the riband he had passed round the waist of the Medicean Venus, she politely, but gravely declined the honour with a dignity that repelled the officious fop; and turning to Melicent with a kind and anxious glance, by a half sentence conveyed to the intelligent girl her contempt and disapprobation of the erudite trifling. Colonel Desmond met her eye, and by looks thanked her both for the example and advice; and then said, "Why, Felix, if you were to measure wrists and waists by spherical trigonometry; indeed it would afford a laudable display of your science. I'm sure Miss Wildenheim would not suffer the dimensions of her arm to be found in any way less sublime." "Yes, indeed," exclaimed Melicent, "you're no better, Cousin Dilly, than a common habit-maker with that little yard. Why don't you make a surtout for the Venus you are so fond of talking about?" Though Mr. Desmond had set young Donolan on in hopes of seeing a high scene of comic effect take place between him and the ladies, as he never let pass any opportunity of quizzing him, in revenge for the contempt he on all occasions expressed for that country, which was the object of his own enthusiastic love; he grinned with delight to see him so mortified, whilst he at the same time felt much obliged to Adelaide for the good natured hint she had given to Melicent, which he had predetermined to convey himself, when it came to her turn to make the ridiculous exhibition. However, this votary of Momus could not consent to lose his fun entirely, and therefore said to the discontented connoisseur, "Don't be dash'd, Dilly, if the young ones are too shy, we'll try the old ladies;" and snapping the fillagree case out of his hand, he began with his own wife, and with much laughter found her circumference out of all just proportion. He then proceeded to Mrs. O'Sullivan, saying, "I'm shocked, madam, at my nephew's want of gallantry in not ascertaining the proportions of your figure before he took those of lesser beauties." "You're wastly polite, sir, but I bant so slim as I used to be; that ere belt wouldn't compress me now, though time was, Mr. Desmond, when I was the pride of Bagnigge Wells—I could show shapes with any of 'em." "But, my dear ma'am, if one won't do, two of them put together will, and then we can safely say, you have double the beauty of the best French Venus amongst them all. Here's for the honour of Old England," holding up the riband; and as she passed it round her waist, "I knew that," continued he, "it's allowed that one English can beat three Frenchmen; and I could have laid my life, that one full grown British beauty was at least equal to two of the first in France." Miss Fitzcarril simperingly anticipated her triumph, when she should give incontestable proof, that her waist was smaller than that of the finest model of sculptured symmetry. After making the modest, she consented to give ocular demonstration of the fact; and then, holding out one long bony fore-finger, put the tip of the other on its knuckle, saying, with the utmost exultation, "All that much less:" which circumstance she related with conscious pride to Mr. Webberly, the first time she saw him afterwards; and it will long afford an agreeable subject for Captain Cormac's compliments, who, in truth, had lately been rather at a loss for novelties of this kind.

The dilettante, in an agony of tasteful horror, that the silk, which had encircled the divine form of the Medicean Venus, should have been contaminated by touching that of the stiffest old maid in Connaught, shuddered as he internally groaned, "Oh! the she Vandal! But what can a man of taste expect, who ventures to amalgamate in society with these modern Boeotians! May the genius of sculpture never again display her chefs d'oeuvre to my enlightened gaze, if I ever make any further attempt to give these demi-savages a specimen of the beau idÉal." He had scarcely rolled up his riband with undissembled indignation, when dinner was announced. Had the tables on which it was served been as animated as Homer's, they would have groaned with the weight of supernumerary dishes, in all which, however, Mr. Donolan could not, with the aid of his glass, find any thing he could recommend Miss Cecilia Webberly to eat. "Not a particle of French cookery," said he, despairingly shrugging his shoulders, "except, perhaps, that bashamele de veau roti—the piper and the fiddler make such a confounded noise, no one can be heard. Launcelot! you're next your father, ask him for some of it." "Anan!" said the youth, pretending to look quite stupid, "Ask your father to send Miss Cecilia Webberly some of that bashamele de veau roti." "What in the name of the Lord does he mean, Milly?" said Lanty, turning to his sister; "faith and honour he never spakes legible now." "Legible, Lanty! indeed I think he speaks copperplate," replied Melicent; "it's some larded veal he wants."

All this time the piper and the fiddler were playing furiously out of tune in the hall. Mr. Desmond, addressing Adelaide, said, "I always make them play up a tune at dinner—it makes it sit light." "What a satisfaction it must be to you to support those poor blind men!" "Yes, and their being blind has an advantage you don't think of;—if I have a potato and herring for my dinner, they don't know but I sport three courses and a dessert." The noise of the piper and fiddler, of incessant laughing and talking, the clatter of knives and forks, joined to the giggling and chattering of the maid servants employed in washing plates, spoons, forks, and knives, in one common bucket, behind the half-closed parlour door, with occasional dialogues between them, such as, "Oh Jasus! I have brok the big dish, and my mistress will be raving!" "The devil mend you! what cale had you to be peeping in at the quality, with your face as black as my shoe; and when the master turned his head, ye made off in such a flusteration, ye let go your load." "Sarra matter! I'll get Miss Milly to spake a good word for me, and there'll be nothing about it." All these noises united were too much for Mr. Donolan, whose "nerves were finer than a spider's web," and he became quite cross. When Melicent complained of the heat, he said very gruffly, "It's no wonder you're hot, when you appear in bear skin." She pretended not to understand him:—he retorted—"Really, Melicent, if you have not gumption enough to understand them, I cannot be dictionary to my own bon mots." "Glossary, rather," thought Adelaide, "for I'm sure they are barbarous wit."

Whilst Mr. Donolan conveyed to his inamorata, who was sitting beside him, by winks, and shrugs, and contortions of countenance, his knowledge of the savoir vivre, he and she both, as well as the rest of the company, gave incontestable proof—(at least if there be any truth in the proverb, which tells us, "That the proof of the pudding is in the eating")—that Mrs. Desmond's bill of fare, though "gothic to the last degree"—was very palatable. They even condescended, after demolishing fish, flesh, fowl, and pastry, to partake of her floating island, served in a flat cut glass dish, which occupied the place of a modern plateau. After the ladies had given the dessert "honour due," and the gentlemen had drank "The king," and "All our true friends, and the devil take the false ones," and the "Ladies' inclinations," the fair part of the company retired to the drawing-room. Here Melicent, in great delight, showed her friends the new grand piano forte her uncle had bought for her in Dublin. "It was thoroughly well tuned," said she to Adelaide, "by Mr. Ingham this morning, that we might have the pleasure of hearing you play. My uncle says you are a perfect musician." Miss Cecilia Webberly bit her lips, but quickly consoled herself with the recollection, that he had never heard her sing; and, to turn the conversation, asked Miss Desmond if she drew; she replied in the negative, but produced a port-folio of fine drawings of her uncle's. Adelaide had seen most of them before, and looked at them with the deepest interest, as they brought past scenes to her memory. Melicent held up one that was quite new to her;—a lovely female figure, in the freshest bloom of youth, was depicted holding a scroll, which she was reading with evident pleasure. The painter had caught one of the softest blushes and most bewitching smiles, that ever gave to beauty her least resistible charm; whilst the drapery, which flowed round a form of perfect symmetry, seemed to have been arranged by the hand of the Graces. This drawing had been executed by one of the first masters at Vienna, from a sketch of Colonel Desmond's. On the margin of the drawing were the following verses, the first few words of which were written on the scroll the fair creature was supposed to read:

Miss Wildenheim quickly recollected, that these lines were written in a fine edition of Klopstock's works Colonel Desmond had given her, as a gage d'amitiÉ, the last day she had seen him at Vienna; and when Miss Nevil turned to trace the resemblance she perceived in the drawing—the blush, the smile, the attitude, the graceful form, struck her so forcibly, that she exclaimed, "It is yourself, Miss Wildenheim; I thought it was the image of you, the instant I saw it." Melicent, with intuitive propriety, sought to relieve Adelaide's embarrassment, and said, "Here's a far more beautiful figure; this, Miss Webberly, is my last production—a charming Paul and Virginia, I assure you. Do admire Paul's leg, it is thicker than the tree he is sitting under:—I wonder he doesn't kick Virginia, she squints so abominably."

When this singular specimen of the fine arts was first displayed to the partial eyes of Melicent's parents, it met with no small admiration from them. A showy frame was bought, in which it was hung up over the chimney-piece of their usual sitting-room, and the fond mother gazed at it from morning till night. When Colonel Desmond returned from abroad, this was the first object, that, after showing her nine healthy, handsome children, she directed his attention to. He did not then express all the horror he felt at the contrast it afforded; but in about six months' negociation with considerable difficulty accomplished its being safely deposited in his port-folio.