CHAPTER XX.
I saw the guardian Cupid of our town
Dressed in a mercantile, staid suit of brown;
A wig he wore—a slate was on his knee,
On which he cast up sums industriously;
Complexion, morning—hair, like midnight dark—
Balance, good county interest and a park;
Sings like an angel—dances like a grace—
Chances from Grosvenor Square to Connaught Place.
But while with this arithmetic amused,
His bow and arrows lay behind unused.
Milton.
"We must not be too exquisite—
We live by admiration."
Wordsworth.
"I wish," said Lady Mandeville, as she and Emily met on a crowded staircase, "you would let me recommend my coiffeur to you."
"A gentleman most devoted," observed her husband, "to the science. Aware that appearance is every thing in this world, he holds it little less than a sin to neglect it. Meeting him stepping like a feather, or as light as one of his own curls, I stopped to ask Signor Julio
