female Byron out of her? Can you, Edward, account for omissions like these? "
"Only on the principle, that there is a destiny in these things: but I do think a novelist will soon be as necessary a part of a modern establishment as the minstrel was in former times. The same feeling which in the olden days gave a verse to a ballad now gives a column to the Morning Post; only that the ball has taken place of the tournament, and white gloves are worn instead of steel gauntlets."
"I have heard my aunt say," observed Emily, "that Surr's Winter in London hastened the Duchess of Devonshire's death. She died of a broken heart."
"A most interesting fact to your aunt, who is, I believe, a most inveterate novel-reader; but one I rather doubt: people are not so easily written out of their lives—except by prescriptions."
"Most of the broken-heart cases I hear, put me in mind," rejoined Edward, "of our old friend Mrs. Lowe's story. A maiden lady of forty called on her one day on one of those sentimental errands to which maiden ladies of her age seem peculiarly addicted; and, after a deep sigh or two, said, 'I wished much, madam,
