So Aunt Becky's levee went on; and as Homer, in our school-boy ear, sang
the mournful truth, that 'as are the generations of the forest leaves so
are the succession of men,' the Dangerfield efflorescence had no sooner
disappeared, and that dry leaf whisked away down the stairs, than
Cluffe and Puddock budded forth and bloomed in his place, in the
sunshine of Aunt Rebecca's splendid presence.
Cluffe, in virtue of his rank and pretensions, marched in the van, and,
as Aunt Becky received him, little Puddock's round eyes swept the room
in search, perhaps, of some absent object.
'The general's not here,' said Aunt Becky loftily and severely,
interpreting Puddock's wandering glance in that way. 'Your visit,
perhaps, is for him--you'll find him in his study, with the orderly.'
'My visit, Madam,' said Puddock, with a slight blush, 'was intended for
you, Madam--not for the general, whom I had the honour of seeing this
morning on parade.'
'Oh! for me? I thank you,' said Aunt Rebecca, with a rather dry
acknowledgment. And so she turned and chatted with Cluffe, who, not
being at liberty to talk upon his usual theme--his poor, unhappy friend,
Puddock, and his disgraces--was eloquent upon the monkey, and sweet upon
the lap-dogs, and laughed till he grew purple at the humours of the
parrot, and swore, as gentlemen then swore, 'twas a conjuror, a wonder,
and as good as a play.
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