Upon this testimony to his social standing, you direct that the
perfect gentleman shall be shown in.

MARY ANN has not deceived you--he has a respirator, also blue
spectacles, and a red nose. He apologises with fluent humility for
intruding upon you without the honour of a previous acquaintance, and
takes a chair, after which he shifts his respirator to his chin, sheds
a pair of immense woollen gloves into his hat, and produces a bundle
of papers, over which he intreats you to cast an eye. On perusing
them, they prove to be letters from various eminent authors, whose
names are, more or less, familiar to you. These documents are more
interesting as autographs than from any intrinsic literary merit, for
they all refer to remittances for various amounts, and regret politely
that the writer is not in a position to obtain permanent employment
for his correspondent. While you are reading them, your visitor pays
assiduous court to your cat--which impresses you favourably.

"Possibly, Madam," he suggests, "you may be personally acquainted
with some of those gentlemen?" When you confess that you have not that
honour, he seems more at his ease.

"I asked," he says, "because I have long heard of you as a Lady of
great taste and judgment in literary matters--which, after seeing you,
I can the more readily understand."

It is a fact that several of your nieces and female neighbours are in
the habit of declaring that they would rather take your opinion on a
novel than that of all the critics; still, you had not expected your
fame to have spread so wide.