came between two generations—the minuet was old and the polka was new; all alike were polka mad, all crazed with the idea of getting up a new fast style, but oh! lamblike to what it is now! I watched the last century trying to accommodate itself to the present.
One common smile graced the lips of all—the innocent, the guilty, the happy, and the wretched; the same colour on bright cheeks, some of it real, some bought at Atkinson's; and, more wonderful still, the same general outward decorum, placidity, innocence, and good humour, as if prearranged by general consent. I pitied the vanity, jealousy, and gossip of many women. I classed the men too: there were many good; but amongst some there were dishonour and meanness to each other, in some there were coarseness and brutality, and in some there was deception to women; some were so narrow-minded, so wanting in intellect, that I believed a horse or a dog to be far superior. But my ideal was too high, and I had not in those days found my superior being.
I met some very odd characters, which made one form some rather useful rules to go by. One man I met had every girl's name down on paper, if she belonged to the haute volée, her age, her fortune, and her personal merits; for he said, "One woman, unless one happens to be in love with her, is much the same as another." He showed me my name down thus: "Isabel Arundell, eighteen, beauty, talent and goodness, original—chief fault £0 0s. 0d.!" Then he showed me the name of one of my friends: "Handsome, age seventeen, rather missish, £50,000;
