ANOTHER LECTURE FOR BLANCHE. 277 



"All right, my boy — now we shall have some fun — and 

 here comes Con," who threw herself into her brother's arms in 

 an ecstacy of delight. 



" There, Beauchamp, let that do for the present, so much 

 kissing makes my mouth water ; but your sister shall have one 

 for tempting me ; " which was accordingly inflicted without 

 much resistance. A good hour having been spent at the break- 

 fast table, Beauchamp asked what was the order of the day. 



" None issued yet," replied Malcolm, " as my Lady Mither 

 seldom honours us before twelve." 



" Then I propose, aunt," said Beauchamp, " if you do not 

 object, taking these girls a stroll in Kensington Gardens ; they 

 both look in want of a little fresh air." 



" Go, by all means, William, and I will order the carriage 

 directly." 



" I think a walk there will be of greater benefit this fine 

 morning, aunt." 



" Oh, yes ! " rejoined Blanche, " do let us walk." 



it Yery well, my dear ; then I will call for you in the car- 

 riage, at the entrance on the Bays water Road, about one o'clock." 



The young ladies were not long in making their prepara- 

 tions, and, escorted by their beaux, left the square in high 

 spirits. 



"Well, dear Blanche," asked Beauchamp, "how do you 

 think you will like a London life 1 " 



" Not at all, William, if I must judge by first impressions, 

 and those, you say, are generally right." 



" Yes, dear girl, they are so, in my opinion, of many things, 

 particularly as to London life, which requires considerable 

 schooling for one like yourself to appreciate or understand; 

 moreover, you must be thoroughly acclimatised before you can 

 enjoy it, if enjoy it you ever can, which I sincerely hope you 

 never will. For instance, last night you could not enjoy a 

 dance, because not inured to the excessive heat of these London 

 rooms, which has little or no effect upon those accustomed to 

 it. But this training to endure an unhealthy atmosphere will 

 cost you the loss of that youthful bloom now mantling in your 

 cheek, which no art can ever replace ; and your participation in 

 that constant succession of frivolous amusement, which so many 

 make the business of their lives, will be at the expense of your 

 own peace of mind. When once involved in the giddy vortex 

 of London dissipation, you will irresistibly be borne away in its 

 attractive whirl, engaged in a perpetual round of balls, dinner- 



