all in attendance upon her. A few weeks made her a reigning toast; verses were written, and glasses broken, in her honour; and it was an undecided thing, whether the Duke of Wharton wore her chains, or those of Lady Wortley. One day would suffice to tell the history of many.
"When sleepless lovers just at twelve awake,"
she awakened also. Chocolate came in those fairy cups of India china, which made the delight of our grandmothers, and whose value was such, that the poet satirist considered their loss to be the severest trial to a woman's feelings—alias her temper; while to be
"Mistress of herself, though China fall,"
was held an achievement almost too great for feminine philosophy. Chocolate then enabled the languid beauty to go through the duties of her toilette. Notes were read, laces looked over, the last new verses looked over with them; perhaps a page read from the last French romance—the mind a little disturbed from its heroic sorrows by the consideration,
