mean, that you leave no reason for people to judge with; therefore they must let you judge for them—will you pity me?"
Well, to make short of a long story, told with a broken accent that made it doubly piquant, and embellished with gestures equally earnest and grotesque,—I found that the ornaments now used at desserts are on a gigantic scale; and Chloe believed that he had immortalised himself by a representation of the war of the Titans against the gods. Unfortunately, they were higher than even the room; and Lord Marchmont refused to comply with the wishes of the artiste, and to take down his splendidly painted ceiling to admit of the dessert. This threw Chloe into an agony: with tears in his eyes, he implored my intercession. "C'est mon avenir dat I ask of you. I have not slept for nights, filled with my grand project—mais c'est magnifique! Will madame fancy the entrance of de giants—taller than de tallest figures at de duke of—vat is dat berry?—ah, de queen's, Queensberry, or gooseberry."
My dear uncle, I behaved like an angel:
