velvet hat and white feathers, and finally the whole of the Countess of Lauriston, followed by her daughter. After a due portion of time employed in exclamations, sympathies, and inquiries, how they came to meet was explained as satisfactorily as the end of an old novel, when every thing is cleared up, and every body killed, after having first repented, or married.
Lord Lauriston was laid up with the gout: prevented from attending the county ball, he still remembered his popularity, and "duly sent his daughter and his wife;" all thought of going was now at an end: however, the purpose was more completely answered,—an overturn in the service of their country was equivalent to half-a-dozen evenings of hard popular work; and, too much alarmed to re-enter the carriage, or even try the phaeton, they agreed to walk home, and this, too, in the best of humours.
Lady Lauriston delighted to see her son, whose absence at this period was to be feared; for electioneering dinings and visitings are tiresome—and the young man objected to trouble; while his non-appearance would have wasted a world of "nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles:" as it was, his mother took his arm with delighted complacency.
