parties, and putting the natives (as Lady Elizabeth called them) into good humour with his lordship.

As, however, her ladyship, and still more her daughters, were really of extremely high monde, and the higher, from being reduced sometimes (for the reasons above stated) to fear it might be disputed, this was a favour not absolutely conferred without sacrifice. Lady Elizabeth, who had points to carry with Lord Mowbray, and was moreover his relation, consented to it with tolerable grace; but her daughters were by no means so complying. For though they liked the castle parties sufficiently, it was, perhaps, more because they there felt themselves to be members of a privileged few, who could indulge in the exaction of almost divine honours from the many, than because they felt under any obligation to submit their cloth of gold to the cloth of fries of country families. The political considerations which led to it, they were too young to understand, or to care for them if they did. Their mother had indeed given them very proper lectures upon this subject, which they heard with about as much attention, as they heard all other lectures, to which in the course of their education they had been obliged to listen.

This party had now begun to ascend the terrace steps, and Lady Elizabeth passed through the lane made for her at bottom, bowing to those of her acquaintance whom she recognized, with distant condescension, till she reached the high personages who waited for her at top. Her daughters (two in number) followed her, with a most assured air, seeming to think that several persons who saluted them as they passed, were mere statues, whom it was not in the smallest degree incumbent upon them to notice.

They were in a very fashionable deshabille de voyage, consisting of loose travelling gowns of scarlet, well trimmed and flounced, and clasped with gold. The face of one at least was blooming, and the figures of both tall and striking; of all which advantages they seemed to be fully sensible. There was, however, a difference between them. For, while Miss Zephyrina, the youngest, was sweet seventeen, the eldest, Miss Partridge, was at that uneasy (we had almost said unhappy) age, when the world pronounces a lady's girlhood to be gone, and the patient is not disposed to agree in the decision. What that age is, we dare not say; for it is different in different subjects, and every one must apply it for herself. Il n'y a qu'un printems dans l'année," says an old French proverb-and Miss Partridge thought so too; but then she also thought that the printems lasted longer with her than it did with any body else. In short, that bloom and alacrity of spirit, which render a young girl so charming to herself and others, had left her; and she had not (yet) acquired those other graces, from sense and manner, which, by making a woman more estimable, cause her to be infinitely more attracting.

Nothing pleased the elder Miss Partridge so much as when she was classed with her sister, under the name of "the girls." She was fond of telling stories wherein her father would say, "Come along, girls," or talk of his girls; and she was even once known to be civil for ten minutes to a man she had determined to cut, because she heard he had spoken of her as a "charming girl."

These sisters advanced with a quick step, laughing loudly with one another, and staring through their glasses at the persons who made way for them, to the right and left.

De Vere, who met their view, was honoured with most radiant smiles; while, as to Harclai, who was standing by him, and perfectly well known to them, they almost laughed in his face. But the attraction of the great magnet, the family party above, increasing (like other attractions) in increased proportion as they approached, they were at last drawn into its focus with irresistible velocity.

But, horrible to relate! Mrs. Oldbury, whom they had settled in their way down not to speak to, was almost close to them; though having watched long, and in vain, for their eyes, which were somehow or another always averted, she was forced to console herself as well as she could, by talking to her neighbour, the unpretending and happier wife of the clergyman of Mowbray.

In time, however, and by dint of most pertinacious endeavours, Mrs. Oldbury succeeded so far as to nestle close to the objects of her envy and admiration, and deprived them of all pretext to avoid returning a part, at least, of the very low curtesy she made them. But having now advanced with an absolute threat of conversation, these daughters of fashion and ill-breeding looked at their watches, and declaring that they had not a minute to lose, scudded away to their room to dress; leaving Mrs. Oldbury in possession of mamma.

Lady Elizabeth, to do her justice, carried off the misfortune with fortitude; and knowing that Lord Mowbray had reason for courting the Oldburys in the country, as

well as that Mr. Partridge had reasons for courting Lord Mowbray in town, she deigned to speak several sentences to Mrs. Oldbury, one of which actually was, "Is that pretty looking young woman with you, your niece?"

Mrs. Oldbury was charmed; and beckoning her niece, she was presented to Lady Elizabeth in all due form. Nor did the high town lady leave it, even here; for looking at Miss Oldbury with the utmost force of condescending protection, she added, "I hear you are very accomplished, and play, sing, and dance, as if you had never been out of London."

Miss Oldbury blushed, and made a modest retreat behind her aunt, who almost bent double with acknowledgment; when Lady Elizabeth, sliding off to Lord Mowbray, whispered him, loud enough to be heard by Lady Eleanor and Constance, and all but loud enough for Mrs. Oldbury herself, "There, my Lord, you surely owe me something for that. I think I have complied with your wishes to a tittle."

Constance," said Lady Eleanor, as she took her arm and retired to dress, "I do not like this lady, and still less her daughters. Your modest friend Euphemia Oldbury, whom she frightened away by her stare, is worth all of them put together."

Sir Bertie Brewster, who shortly afterwards joins the party, is an excellent character. His exact counterpart is to be found in Miss Austen's admirable novel, Pride and Prejudice. We know not whether the writer of De Vere is aware of this fact; we incline to think that he is not, as in his introductory remarks on the superior novelists, he has omitted to mention Miss Austen; whence we must infer that he is unacquainted with her excellent works, unrivalled in their peculiar style. When Mr. Robert Ward reads these productions, he will find, despite of their alliterative titles, ominous of trash, and a fame miserably disproportioned to their merits, that even his happiest conceptions of character will suffer no degradation by comparison with the exquisitely faithful portraits of the ill-appreciated author to whom we have referred.

Another gentleman now approached the circle, who occasioned dismay, not only to the Partridge family, but to some of the male wizards who defended it. This was Sir Bertie Brewster, an ambitieux, whom Le Sage has described as one of those bons rotuviers whom the king converts into a "mauvais gentilhomme, par d'excellentes lettres de noblesse." And yet, if originality of design and perseverance in pursuing it, can entitle a man to the praise of genius, he was one of the most considerable geniuses of the age,

This gentleman, being the son of a great manufacturer of that day, was, for his sins, smitten with the love of great people, and the court. How to get among them was a question which might have puzzled a less aspiring man than himself: however, his father being dead, his first step was to dispose of all his commercial concerns; his next, to whitewash himself as well as he could by a title. He tried in vain for a baronetcy, but luckily being made sheriff of the county, where, among the potteries, he had an estate, he succeeded for a knighthood. It was going up with an address that first kindled his love for the Court, which he worshipped afterwards like an idol. No levée, or drawing-room, scarcely ever took place without seeing him, sometimes in embroidery, sometimes in his militia coat, surrounded by persons of superior rank, not one of whom he knew, much less dared speak to.

Here, however, he had a resource which we confess was original, and bespoke that felicitous genius on which we have so deservedly complimented him. For he fell upon the happy expedient of engaging in a sort of make-believe acquaintance, by inducing people to suppose that he saw friends at a distance whom he did not see, and received bows which he did not receive. With these, therefore, he pretended to engage in an interchange of nods and smiles; nay, a "How do you do, my Lord?" has frequently been heard to escape him in a low voice, as if he could not prevent it, though the noble addressee was (luckily for Sir Bertie) so far off that he knew he could not hear him.

But there was another still finer trait in his history, which made us both call and think him a man of genius: we mean the manner in which he acquired the aristocratic Christian name of Bertie, by which he was latterly known. We say latterly, because (believe it who will) the name given him by his plain and primitive godfathers, was the plain and primitive one of Bartholomew; of which growing ashamed,

somewhere about his seven-and-twentieth year, he actually applied to the bishop of the diocese to know whether it might not be changed, and was mortified to be told that no power in Christendom could effect it. He therefore made a virtue of necessity, and remembering that in his extreme youth, the long, old, scriptural Bartholomew had been, per syncopen, shortened into Barty, the transition from that to the noble name of Bertie was so easy, that he contrived not only to call himself, but to make his friends designate him also, by that high-sounding appellation. He was even knighted by it by the sovereign, and was so recorded in the Heralds' College when the fees came to be paid and thus originally vamped up, he was now universally known by the name of Sir Bertie Brewster.

Upon the whole, this personage reaped some of the benefit which surely his genius and perseverance deserved; for, by dint of his regular appearances at Court, be at least got his name enrolled in those high lists of fame-the lists of the persons who frequented the drawing-room. He even obtained a bowing acquaintance with two or three old lords, one of them absolutely of the bed-chamber, and once had the glory of being serviceable even to the Partridge family themselves. This happened when their coach broke down in drawing up to the gate of the palace, when, alas! no acquaintance was at hand, and it was impossible to get chairs for so many. To complete the ill-luck it rained hard, and the crowd prevented their making their way back. In this emergency their ill (and Sir Bertie's good) star ordained, that his own fine roomy coach stopt the way. It was impossible not to offer it, and scarcely possible not to accept it, and Lady Elizabeth and two of her daughters were that day conveyed to Berkeley-square in the carriage of Sir Bertie Brewster.

We may be sure, a circumstance so joyful did not fail to be blazoned to the world. It appeared in the finest colours of a Court Circular, in all the papers of the next day. What was worse, the incident produced a call of enquiry; cards were left, which Mr. Partridge was forced to return; and, worst of all, Lady Elizabeth was obliged by her husband to send an invitation for her earliest rout, (it was, luckily, when few people were in towa,) which Sir Bertie joyfully and thankfully came fifty miles from the country on purpose to attend. 'Tis very true that none of the Misses Partridge spoke a word to him, Mr. Partridge very little, and Lady Elizabeth less. But he went early; stayed to the very last; and made himself familiar with the face, air, and dress, of one or two persons of fashion, who happened at the time to be in London.

Such was the redoubtable person who now approached the females of the house of Partridge, and (to their horror,) with all the ease and intimacy of an old acquaint

auce.

The young ladies had no resource but to turn their backs upon him, which they did as suddenly, and with as much precision, as a rank of soldiers ordered to face about; so that Lady Elizabeth was forced to bear the brunt of the attack, as she had just sustained that of Harclai.

Lord Cleveland, who, though he allowed all her pretensions to be a woman of quality, knew also, and secretly laughed at her finery, was inwardly amused. In fact, dismay and anger clouded her brow, turning by degrees to scorn itself, when Sir Bertie, with the familiar tone of an old friend, asked her how she did; how long she had been in the country; and reminded the young ladies of the happy evening he had once passed in Berkeley-square.

"I have no hesitation," observed he, "in saying it was by far the most elegant party in London during the season."

Nothing could exceed the contemptuous and scarcely suppressed laugh which he received in return for this sally.

Sir Bertie is now in the seventh heaven, seated at dinner next to Lord Eustace, a young nobleman, whose whole soul is given to party politics.

Sir Bertie now began to revel in the delightful opportunity he had achieved of cultivating such a neighbour as Eustace, and conceived it behoved him to show some knowledge of high acquaintance; he therefore began to criticise the party assembled, observing it was a very mixed one.

"These parties generally are," said Lord Eustace.

They must be very amusing sometimes to vous autres," added Sir Bertie.

"You ought rather to say nous autres," replied Eustace, with as much gravity as he could command.

Sir Bertie bowed till his nose almost touched the table.

MAY, 1827.

E

There is, however, some good company," continued the Knight; "and how very well Lord Westbrook looks."-Here he fixed his eyes on a gentleman in Lord Mowbray's neighbourhood, of the name of Stapylton.

"Lord Westbrook!" exclaimed Eustace, he is in Italy!

"Oh! I see I am mistaken," replied Sir Bertie, taking out his glass; "I am really quite blind: I see it is Lord Melton, whom I have sometimes met at Court." "Lord Melton is in France," replied Eustace; "and is at least twenty years older than that gentleman, who is a Mr. Stapylton, and who, indeed, is often at Court, having a place in the household."

I knew I had seen him there," rejoined Sir Bertie, almost disconcerted; and, willing to forget Mr. Stapylton, immediately added, I am afraid the poor Bishop of Salisbury begins to break ;" and he looked pointedly at Dr. Herbert, over against him.

"If you mean the dignitary over the way," said Eustace, excessively amused, "that is Dr. Herbert, Head of - College, Oxford."

Impossible!" returned Sir Bertie, now much confused; "I cannot surely be so blind!" and here his countenance fell, and he was silent for three whole minutes.

But Harclai, who, as we have said, sat next him, and to his great enjoyment had heard the whole conversation, was kind enough not to let him languish in obscurity; and knowing his history, observed, loud enough for Eustace to hear, "Yours is a very fine christian name, Sir Bertie."

"Are you related to the Ancaster family?" asked Eustace.

"No; not related," answered Sir Bertie; but not disliking the question.

Perhaps a godson of the Duke? pursued Harclai drily.

The Knight had no wish to destroy the supposition, but could not decently confirm it; he therefore was silent, wisely considering that if Harclai was wrong, it was no part of his duty to set him right. At the same time feeling hemmed up between two persons whose curiosity he did not exactly make out, but began to suspect, he knew not which way to look, and felt, for a time at least, uncomfortable enough to give Harclai all the satisfaction he had intended to derive from him.

BEES.*

THE difference between ignorance and knowledge in entomology is more distinct and tangible than in almost any other study. It is the difference between blindness and perfect vision. There are many

departments of science in which a man, after having made some progress, is not very sure of his quantity of improvement; but in the branch of natural history we are speaking of, a man's state of information is clear. To read Kirby and Spence is exactly like putting your eyes to the glass of a show, a cosmorama, or any thing of the sort. To look in is to see a new world-to look away is to turn the vision upon an unsatisfactory chair or table. Entomology raises a veil from myriads and myriads of beings living and flourishing where we least suspected the presence of life. A closer observation discloses to us their habits and manners. We are surprised to find the creatures excessively busy and happy; a little short-lived perhaps, but in that quite in proportion to their bodies. Further assistance from art enables us to discover their organization; a little patience, and we positively learn how insects, of whose existence we never dreamed, perform the most minute and secret of their operations with all the accuracy and familiarity of a member of their republic. The habits of insects that we see every day, are nearly as unknown to us generally as are the ways of the almost invisible tribes. It requires

* The Honey-bee; its Natural History, Physiology and Management. By Edward Bevan, M.D. London, Baldwin and Co. 1827. 12s. Pp. 404.

nothing but the naked eye to see a bée; but naturalists at the present day understand more thoroughly the ways of the creatures that inhabit a pore of the skin, than did the ancients those of that respectable, useful, and ingenious animal, the honey-bee. Aristotle and Virgil both alike talk nonsense on the subject; the first drily and the last poetically. It was many centuries since their time that the apiarian commonwealth began to be understood. At present, though several little things are not very clear, a flood of light has been let in upon the wonderful ways of the bee. The most amusing, instructive, and pregnant reading we know is the natural history of this animal. The facts that have been laid open by several patient and intelligent observers fill the reader with a delightful astonishment. Since these facts are scattered about in the different essays and publications of the various writers on the subject, we feel grateful to the compiler of them in a convenient form. But Dr. Bevan has done more; he has himself been a student of the laws of the apiarian republic, has weighed the evidence on which information was founded, and tried the truth of the facts by the test of his own experience. Thus while he communicates the opinions of others, he corrects them by his own, and having maturely and patiently passed the whole subject through his mind, his book is so far from being a crude collection of extract, that it is a well-digested, freshly conceived, and elegantly composed compendium of the present state of apiarian science. Dr. Bevan's book comprises all that is really known of the bee, and all that is supposed, and the evidence on which such suppositions are grounded. We propose to run over the principal points of his agreeable little work, partly out of gratitude for the pleasure it has afforded us, and in the hope of communicating some of the amusement to our readers which we have ourselves derived.

Dr. Bevan first occupies himself with the history and physiology of the bee. The occupants of the hive are of three descriptions, the queen bee, the workers, and the drones. The queen is the parent and mistress of the hive, and is born to sovereignty. The workers do all the business of the establishment, rear the young, guard the entrances, elaborate the wax, and store the provision. The drones are the males, and the only way in which they promote the welfare of the society is the sexual one. The queen bee is distinguished from the other two kinds by the greater length of her body, by the shortness of her wings, and her bent sting. Her colours are likewise of a more brilliant hue, and her legs are of a deep golden yellow. She lays all the eggs of the colony. The workers are sterile females with undeveloped ovaries. In a single hive the number of workers varies from 12,000 to 20,000: they are the smallest members of the community, are furnished with a long flexible proboscis, have a peculiar structure of the legs and thighs, on the latter of which are made hollows, or baskets, adapted to the reception of the propolis and farina they collect. The drones in a hive amount to the number of perhaps 1,500 or 2,000. They make their appearance about the end of April, and are never to be seen after the middle of August. They are one-third larger than the workers, and are of a dark colour. They make a greater noise in flying, and have no sting.

Among bees, the females alone exhibit activity, skill, diligence,