"Ah, my Lord Alhambra! this is too kind: and how is your excellent father, and my good friend?—Sir Plantagenet, your's most sincerely; we shall have no difficulty about that right of common.—Mr. Leverton, I hope you find the new plough work well—your son, sir, will do the county honour.—Sir Godfrey, I saw Barton upon that point, as I promised.—Lady Julia, I'm rejoiced to see ye at Château Desir, more blooming than ever!—Good Mr. Stapylton Toad, so that little change was effected!—My Lord Devildrain, this is a pleasure indeed!"
"Why, Ernest Clay," said Mr. Buckhurst Stanhope, "I thought Alhambra wore a turban—I'm quite disappointed."
"Not in the country, Stanhope; here, he only sits cross-legged on an ottoman, and carves his venison with an ataghan."
"Well, I'm glad he doesn't wear a turban—that would be bad taste, I think;" said Fool Stanhope. "Have you read his poem?"
