nothing more of their beautiful stranger, till Helen caught sight of her, driving past. For a few moments even Mrs. Palmer's reception of Lady Anne's note was forgotten, and it was not till they heard her bell ring violently, that Isabella recollected that she still held the important missive in her hand.
The next day was one of constant hurry and anxiety. In all places, and under all places and circumstances, (English places and circumstances) the dinner is the most important event—the epoch of the day, the first care of the morning, the last satisfaction of night. Modern history might be told by a succession of dinners; to-day, a dinner commemorates reform; to-morrow the reverse. Now O'Connell appeals to the sympathies of his hearers at Birmingham on behalf of the finest and most ill-used peasantry on earth: then three courses and a desert are served up in Sir Robert Peel's honour, by the Merchant Tailors' Company. But dinners are not only charged with the fate of "Caesar, and of Rome:" they also belong to the usual routine of existence. The cook is the most important person in the household—the master's temper, the mistress's comfort depend upon her—every thing else revolves in an axis around five, six, seven o'clock, or whatever may be the appointed hour for sounding "that tocsin of the heart, the dinner-bell." So much for every day; but, when to the word dinner is added the word party, great is the tumult thereof. Even where servants are many, and
