minster Review. Between grumbling and garnishing, discontent and decoration, Emily was some time before she descended to the drawing-room, which was half full or more on her entrance. She took a seat with a most deferential air—for she was a little awestruck by the intellectual society in which she now found herself—and Mrs. Smithson, equally eager to conciliate a reviewer, who stood on her right, and a poet, who stood on her left, had quite forgotten the very existence of her sweet young friend.
With curiosity much excited, but wholly ungratified, Emily looked eagerly round for a familiar face, but in vain; at last, a lady, who had been watching her for some time, said:
"Will you promise not to suspect me of an intention to steal your pearl chain, if I offer my services as catalogue to this exhibition of walking pictures? "
"I will, on the contrary, be grateful with all the gratitude of ignorance—there must be so many people here I should so like to know something about."
"I see," rejoined her companion, "that you are a stranger, and have no credentials in the shape of 'such a sweet poem'—'such a delight-
