"Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this!"
Shakspeare.

The season commenced in London much as usual. New faces were prepared, and old ones repaired, for exhibition. All the world was weary of the country; the ocean was monotonous; and the game all killed. Equipages came in one after another. Saloons were lighted up; and every successive night the noise of wheels and brilliancy of town-mansions increased. Cards were handed about; and in the distribution our queer friend, old John Martindale, was not forgotten. Many a saucy, lace-bedizened lacquey sneered at the humble-looking residence of a man whom nobility of the first rank condescended to notice. The report was quickly spread abroad, that old Mr. Martindale had discovered a daughter of the days of his imprudence. Many romantic tales were told of the discovery; and many a wonder-exciting paragraph was inserted in the newspapers, but nobody knew their authors. Brigland may be a famous place for gossip, but London is infamous. Country-made lies and wonders are nothing to be compared with those manufactured, swallowed, printed, and circulated in London.

Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved, however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:

"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same question ten times. Lady D.—I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson! Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that was his wife's doing."

This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta, the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of the Abbey in the first instance, and the habits which it had created destroyed all means and power of independence on the part of Philip, and he was thus left at the mercy of his feeders for the time being. He was, therefore, under an unavoidable necessity of complying with the invitation.

A great, large, noisy, tumultuous, promiscuous, crowding, crushing, perfumed, feathered, flowered, painted, gabbling, sneering, idle, gossiping, rest-breaking, horse-killing, pannel-breaking, supper-scrambling evening-party is much better imagined than described, for the description is not worth the time of writing or reading it. It was very presumptuous of Sir Gilbert Sampson thus to ape his betters. Pity it is that no sumptuary laws are passed in this legislating age to prevent all persons of inferior rank from imitating so closely the manners of the higher orders. It should be ordained that all those who can remember by what means and at what time their wealth was acquired should be considered as people of yesterday, and be prohibited from having any party beyond a certain number. We do not, however, assert that the soap-boiler's evening-party was extraordinarily large, or at all equalling some parties which are collected at the mansions of higher people; but it was as large as it possibly could be, and Miss Sampson had contrived to send out the invitations, so that the number of carriages was great in proportion to the party.

Miss Sampsom among the splendid was the most splendid; and had there been no looking-glasses in the rooms for the good people to enjoy the sight of their own dear selves, her splendor would have fixed the gaze of every eye in the apartments. Miss Sampson addressed Colonel Rivolta in Italian; but the Colonel, either from politeness or because he could not understand her, requested permission to use the language of the country in which he was residing; for it was his opinion that it was most suitable that the Italians should speak English in England, and that the English should speak Italian in Italy. Miss Sampson was going to say that the Italian language was as familiar to her as the English, but she thought that was going too far. Signora Rivolta was much astonished at the magnificence of the house, and at the number and decorations of the guests. Fancying that she must be in an assemblage of English nobility of the highest rank, and wishing to be familiar with their names, she interrogated Miss Sampson, who was disposed to be very communicative, as to the names, rank, title and honors of several individuals to whom she directed Miss Sampson's attention. Some of these Miss Sampson did not know, and therefore could not tell their names; and unfortunately some of them she did know, and therefore would not tell their names; lest being urged to be more descriptive and particular, she should betray to the Signora that her visitors were not all of them persons of rank. It is very true, and we are ashamed almost to acknowledge the truth, that there are to be found most serious manifestations and displays of the pride of rank even among those who have no rank to be proud of. And Miss Sampson was more pleased with her papa's knighthood, the only thing that made him ridiculous, than with his commercial success and his own natural good sense and good understanding. But still Miss Sampson was a good-humored, kind-hearted creature: this Signora Rivolta soon discerned; but she did also as soon discern that the young lady was a simpleton. Had the Signora required farther corroboration of her suspicions, that corroboration was abundantly given when the Hon. Philip, after lounging about from one drawing-room to another, and vainly looking for some one to whom he might vouchsafe the patronage and condescension of his honorable notice, presented himself to Miss Sampson. With a most pompous obsequiousness, if our readers know what that means, did the young lady receive the notice of and enter into conversation with the honorable gentleman. She repeated his name in every sentence she uttered, and talked very long and very loudly of Lord and Lady Martindale.

Signora Rivolta, to whom a crowded party was a novelty and a matter of curiosity, employed herself in observing the individuals that composed it; and it puzzled her much to divine the purpose for which they were assembled. And as Miss Sampson was talking very earnestly and attentively to Mr. Philip Martindale, the Signora left her, and went in search of old Mr. Martindale, whom she found very much out of humor at being out of breath in walking about in a few crowded rooms among a set of people of whom he knew nothing. Poor little Clara was quite as tired, and was very much disgusted at the rude manner in which some great boys had stared at her. The carriage, however, had been ordered at a certain hour, and it was absolutely necessary that the party should remain till that hour, and support their troubles as well as they could.

While Mr. Philip Martindale and Miss Sampson were sitting on the same sofa, and Miss Sampson was waving her plumes and showing her teeth, and laughing aloud at Mr. Philip's wit, there were standing near the same sofa two young gentlemen, in very fashionable attire, who seemed to be on very good terms with themselves and with each other. They also took the liberty of talking wittily and laughing loudly. Thereat Mr. Philip felt himself rather annoyed, and hinted his dislike by most awful frowns and withering looks. But his frowns were not dreaded, and his looks were not interpreted as he had designed them. He therefore took the liberty of muttering, almost aloud, a short sentence in which the word "puppy" was clearly audible, accompanying that word with a look of interpretation towards one of the young gentlemen, so that there could be no mistake as to its intended application. This led to some angry words between the parties, at which Miss Sampson would have gone into hysterics, but she did not know how, and the supper-hour was very near at hand, and she was particularly desirous of seeing how well the arrangements had been made. It therefore suited her better to retire from the scene of contest, which she did, but not without casting a look of disapprobation on the young gentleman who was in angry talk with Philip Martindale. In spite of this look, cards were exchanged. The Hon. Philip Martindale scowled at his adversary's card without reading it, and put it hastily into his pocket. The name was printed in the old English character called black letter, and was not very legible; and the place of abode was so diminutively done, that it also was not very distinct. Mr. Martindale's name was on such a large space, and in such a small letter, that the agitated young gentleman did not distinctly apprehend it. The parties therefore were mutually pledged to unknown antagonists. This is a matter in which also the legislature should interfere. People talk about the voluminous nature of our statute-books, forsooth. Nonsense! they are not half large or numerous enough. There is room and necessity for hundreds and thousands of new laws. And if duelling cannot be prevented, it might at least be regulated, and a shooting-license regularly taken out every year; and the licenses only granted to persons of a certain rank, and property, and age. Say, for instance, that none under fifteen years shall be allowed a license; that livery servants, apprentices, clerks in counting-houses, coach and waggon offices, hairdressers, and tailors who use the thimble in person, should be considered as unqualified persons. This would render duelling more select and respectable. But let that pass.

The supper was very splendid and costly. Mr. Philip was at a distance from Miss Sampson, but not so far as not to see that her eyes were anxiously looking round and about the room as if in search of some individual. He thought it must be only himself, but he was wrong; for when he had caught the lady's attention, and smiles had been exchanged, the anxiously inquiring look of Miss Sampson was repeated, and Mr. Philip's curiosity was excited but not gratified. He also looked about to catch a sight of the young gentleman who, by an exchange of cards, had dared him to mortal combat. This young gentleman he could not see. He therefore conjectured that the absent challenger was the person for whom Miss Sampson was so eagerly looking. His next suspicion was, that the young lady, in the fulness of her humanity and kind consideration, was desirous of interposing, with her high authority, to prevent bloodshed. With this suspected humanity he was not well pleased; and he determined to take an opportunity of expostulating with the young lady on the absurdity of her intentions, if he should detect and ascertain that such were her intentions. But while this thought was in his mind, the carriage of old John Martindale was at the door, and the old gentleman was arbitrary and would not wait, or suffer any of his party to keep his horses in the cold. That was very considerate of the old gentleman. Dr. Kitchener, of facetious memory, was very much indebted to old John Martindale for many valuable hints on the subject of carriages and horses.

Poor Philip Martindale was therefore under the necessity of leaving the party before he could have an opportunity of speaking to Miss Sampson. This young lady, however, was more considerate than he had imagined her to be; for she had indeed been anxious to prevent a duel taking place; but her anxiety was not on the ground of anticipated bloodshed, nor was it merely to save the wounds of the body, but to prevent those of the mind or spirit. She had not the slightest doubt that Mr. Philip Martindale would be extremely happy to receive a pistol-ball between any two of his ribs; but knowing the young gentleman's fastidious notions and feelings as concerns the subject of rank and dignity, she thought that he would not properly enjoy the pleasure of being shot, should he know that the kind friend to whom he was indebted for that luxury was a young gentleman of the city, whose usual occupation was casting accounts and making entries in a little dark counting-house in the vicinity of the East India House.

As Mr. Martindale's carriage seldom moved at a much more rapid rate than a hackney-coach, the party within had an opportunity of hearing themselves speak. And very much was Mr. Philip entertained at hearing the original and curious remarks which Signora Rivolta made on the party which they were just leaving. So humorous, and withal so good-naturedly satirical, were her observations, that Philip was quite delighted with them. The subject was renewed when they had alighted from the carriage, and entered the house, insomuch that the young gentleman retired to bed and to sleep, absolutely forgetful of the dreadful quarrel which had taken place at Sir Gilbert Sampson's.