all the lights and shadows of life are lost. The only good thing I heard this year, was an ancient gentlewoman going up to Gunter, and asking him for 'the receipt for that white stuff,' pointing to his Roman punch. I, who am a great man for receipts, gave it her immediately:— 'One hod of mortar to one bottle of 'Noyau!' "
"Oh, that was too bad! and did she thank you?"
"Thank me! ay, truly; and pushed a card into my hand, so thick and sharp that it cut through my glove. I wore my arm in a sling for a month afterwards."'
"And what was the card?"
"Oh, you need not look so arch! The old lady was not even a faithless duenna. It was an invitation to an assembly, or something of the kind, at a locale, somewhere, as Theodore Hook, or John Wilson Croker, would say, 'between Mesopotamia and Russell-square.'"
