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 634 well dressed as usual, the eye-glass of one of the young ladies would be coolly raised, and a glance of undisguised scrutiny levied at the vulnerable part of the lady’s toilet. In short, by a thousand small annoyances, in which the female mind can, when it chooses, be so prolific, Mrs. Nat was made to feel a very inferior sort of animal to the Joneses of Montpelier.

One day, when Mr. and Mrs. Dowling were both paying a morning visit to the Joneses, for appearances were still kept up between the families, and Nat had been coaxed by his wife to accompany her, it so happened that some Don was present,—a ten thousand a-year man, M.P. for Bribewell,—to whom the three Joneses addressed themselves in an exclusive and marked manner, scarcely speaking a single word to their other visitors. I, too, was paying my respects at the time, and I observed Nat’s brow growing blacker and blacker. He soon rose, taking the initiative to depart; and though when we left he said not a word on the subject, I felt sure some mischief was brewing. I dined with my friends in the evening, and I could see the heavy portentous cloud was about to give out its thunder; but how, when, and where the bolt would fall I was entirely ignorant. Directly after the cloth was removed Nat rose from the table, and requested me to challenge his wife to a game of chess, as he was going to write for an hour or two. This was a most unusual and astounding piece of intelligence to both of us, but we made no remark, and commenced our game. When ten o’clock came, Mrs. Nat thought it time to escape a certain check mate I had pending, and to look after her husband. Neither appeared for some time, but I heard Mrs. Nat’s sweet voice speaking cheerily, and then a deep growl and a loud laugh from Nat. At length he issued from his den, looking surly enough, notwithstanding the laugh, and asked me to walk with him to the post-office. This I did, and after dropping a packet in the box, we sauntered along the clift towards Kemp Town, not a word being said in respect to his leaving us so unceremoniously during the evening. At parting, however, when he seemed in a little better humour, and his huge pipe was refilled, I ventured to say, “Nat, my dear fellow, something is wrong with you. You behaved like a bear this evening in deserting your agreeable company without a word of explanation or apology—what does it mean?” At this question Nat took a tremendous long whiff from his meerschaum (about the size of a christening mug), then another, then a third, and I shall not easily forget the tones of his voice as he replied: “I am going in punish those Joneses.” We then parted at his own door, and his giant-like grip when he shook hands, while it made me wince with the pain, reminded me how capable he was, when he chose, of giving just such a moral grip to those who deserved it.

“Going to punish those Joneses!” The words haunted me as I sauntered homeward. But how will he do it? No position in the world can be so perfectly safe as that occupied by three young ladies, who, under cover of the convenances of society, the protection of a large circle of friends, and the sacredness of their sex, launch their little Parthian shafts so that none shall know of them, save the victim. How can such charming recreation be disturbed?—how can the arrows be turned aside?—what antidote is there for their poisoned barbs, so pretty, and so delicately steeped in virus? Is it worth his while, even if he possess the power, to break such May-flies on the wheel? And yet he said he would punish those Joneses. Will he hold them up to ridicule in some stinging article or caustic social sketch, pinning them on the pages of a periodical like pretty butterflies in a naturalist’s frame; or will he pursue a more direct course, and make his wife quietly ignore their existence altogether, as they so often have temporarily ignored her presence in a room? All these questions passed through my mind as I returned home, but I was unable to solve the enigma, though I felt assured the packet he dropped in the box had something, if not everything, to do with the matter.

Thus affairs stood when, a few days after my wanderings, a pamphlet on a question of foreign politics appeared, which caused such a stir and commotion that every one was talking of it. Its sagacity in looking into the future; its array of facts so terse, so masterly; its arguments so unanswerable; its evidence of political reading so profound, and its inferences so just and logical, caused it to gleam like a hidden light on the political world; and while some attributed it to this well-known person, and others to that celebrated writer, &c., &c., I alone guessed its source. The dark cloud had given out its electricity; the dull heavy fellow had spoken out from the depths of his reading and thought, and my friend, Nat, though now subsided into his normal condition, of zoophyte, had wrought on the fiery anvil of his mind to some purpose, and that packet, so quietly deposited in the box, was the torch now ignited to blaze its time. But what on earth had this to do—a political essay, however brilliant—with punishing the Joneses of Montpelier?

Lord Cassaldane was at this period the secretary for foreign affairs, and he was on a visit to Brighton for the benefit of his health. After the appearance of this article Nat Dowling was a frequent visitor at his lordship’s house, but I believe I alone of his friends knew of the circumstance. Lady Cassaldane’s acquaintance was one which the Joneses of Montpelier would have sold their back-hair (Maggie’s was a rich brown in heavy plaits) to have made, and, by dint of wonderful perseverance and manœuvring, they had obtained an invitation to a réunion about to be given by her ladyship. None but the élite of Brighton were invited, and proportionally great was the triumph of the Joneses, more especially as the card of invitation arrived at rather a late period, and somewhat unexpectedly.

Previously to the opening of her ladyship’s salons Lord Cassaldane entertained, as the phrase is, a party of select friends at dinner, and amongst those present were Mr. and Mrs. Dowling. I also was a guest on the occasion, and never did an entertainment pass off so free from restraint and formality, nor so thoroughly crowned by hospitality and elegance. Lady Cassaldane had lived many