And now, the "Galloping Countryman" found himself famous, and, being

so, made the further, sudden discovery that all men were his

"warmest friends," nay, even among the gentler sex this obtained,

for the most dragon-like dowagers, the haughtiest matrons, became

infinitely gracious; noble fathers were familiarly jocose; the

proudest beauties wore, for him, their most bewitching airs, since

as well as being famous, he was known to be one of the wealthiest

young men about town; moreover His Royal Highness had deigned to

notice him, and Her Grace of Camberhurst was his professed friend.

Hence, all this being taken into consideration, it is not surprising

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that invitations poured in upon him, and that the doors of the most

exclusive clubs flew open at his step.

Number Five St. James's Square suddenly became a rendezvous of Sport

and Fashion, before its portal were to be seen dashing turn-outs of

all descriptions, from phaetons to coaches; liveried menials,

bearing cards, embossed, gild-edged, and otherwise, descended upon St.

James's Square in multi-colored shoals; in a word, the Polite World

forthwith took Barnabas to its bosom, which, though perhaps a

somewhat cold and flinty bosom, made up for such minor deficiencies

by the ardor of its embrace. By reason of these things, the legs of

the Gentleman-in-Powder were exalted,--that is to say, were in a

perpetual quiver of superior gratification, and Barnabas himself

enjoyed it all vastly--for a week.

At the end of which period behold him at twelve o'clock in the

morning, as he sits over his breakfast (with the legs of the

Gentleman-in-Powder planted, statuesque, behind his chair), frowning

at a stupendous and tumbled pile of Fashionable note-paper, and

Polite cards.

"Are these all?" he inquired, waving his hand towards the letters.

"Them, sir, is--hall!" answered the Gentleman-in-Powder.

"Then ask Mr. Peterby to come to me," said Barnabas, his frown

growing blacker.

"Cer-tainly, sir!" Here the Gentleman-in-Powder posed his legs, bowed,

and took them out of the room. Then Barnabas drew a letter from his

pocket and began to read as follows: The Gables,

Hawkhurst.

MY DEAR BARNABAS,--As Cleone's letter looks very

long (she sits opposite me at this precise moment writing

to you, and blushing very prettily over something her

pen has just scribbled--I can't quite see what, the table

is too wide), mine shall be short, that is, as short as

possible. Of course we are all disappointed not to have seen

you here since the race--that terrible race (poor, dear

Captain Slingsby,--how dreadful it was!) but of course,

it is quite right you should stay near the Viscount during

his illness. I rejoice to hear he is so much better. I am

having my town house, the one in Berkeley Square, put in

order, for Cleone has had quite enough of the country,

I think, so have I. Though indeed she seems perfectly

content (I mean Cleone) and is very fond of listening to the

brook. O Youth! O Romance! Well, I used to listen

to brooks once upon a time--before I took to a wig.

As for yourself now, Barnabas, the Marquis writes to

tell me that your cravats are 'all the thing,' and your

waistcoats 'all the go,' and that your new coat with the

opened cuff finds very many admirers. This is very well,

but since Society has taken you up and made a lion of you,

it will necessarily expect you to roar occasionally, just

to maintain your position. And there are many ways of

roaring, Barnabas. Brummell (whom I ever despised)

roared like an insolent cat--he was always very precise

and cat-like, and dreadfully insolent, but insolence palls,

after a while--even in Society. Indeed I might give you

many hints on Roaring, Barnabas, but--considering the

length of Cleone's letter, I will spare you more, nor even

give you any advice though I yearn to--only this: Be

yourself, Barnabas, in Society or out, so shall I always

subscribe myself: Your affectionate friend, FANNY CAMBERHURST.




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