After the marriage, the couple lived in a "style of princely splendour" in St. James' Square. Here the social status of the Earl, the fascinations of his wife, and the excellence of the cook, drew to the house a number of men of note-politicians, authors, artists, and aristocrats. Lord Blessington was more economical after marriage than he had been before, at least, so thinks Dr. Madden, her ladyship's biographer-he only spent all his annual income and six thousand a year besides! The Countess was profusely luxurious, her husband profusely lavish.

Among his favourites was Count Alfred D'Orsay, the son of a French general, one of the old nobility of France. The Earl's favour knew no bounds; he married the Count to his daughter, by a former wife, and with his daughter went one hundred thousand pounds to the Count's creditors. It was a similar case to Lady Blessington's first marriage, only there the lady was sold, here the gentleman was purchased. The poor pale, girlish-looking Lady Harriet was fetched from the schoolroom, to marry a spendthrift, whom, a few weeks before, she had never seen, and whom, when she did see, she did not like. The marriage was not a happy one.

In 1829 a fit of apoplexy carried off the Earl; his

widow with her stepdaughter and the Count returned to England. She took up her residence first at Seymour Place, and afterwards (1836) at Gore House. Thither came Count D'Orsay separated from his wife. With the exception of a short stay in No. 5, the Count seems to have resided at or near Gore House until the break up of the establishment took place in 1849. Here they gave the most recherché of parties, and became acknowledged leaders in the world of fashion and the world of literature. To Gore House came the wit and talent of the town. Here Moore, the poet, would enrapture the guests with one of his touching songs. Here, too, the night before Louis Napoleon made his rash expedition to Boulogne, he appeared at a dinner there, his black satin handkerchief "fastened by a by a large spread eagle in diamonds, clutching a thunderbolt of rubies," and invited the guests to dine with him at the Tuilleries on that day twelve months. That expedition ended in the prison of Ham, and on his escape thence six years later, Louis Napoleon again seized the first opportunity of entertaining a

brilliant company at Gore House, with an account of his adventures. Rogers and Campbell were there, as well as Moore, Henry Lytton Bulwer, Walter Savage Landor, Albert Smith, Charles Dickens, and Thackeray, with a host of less known names. Ladies were scarcer, but "sometimes a wandering star, such as the beautiful Guiccioli, would (says one of the Countess's visitors) add to the interest of a scene remarkable for its decorative and artistic taste." Both Count and Countess were general favourites. He a magnificent dandy, an amateur sculptor and painter. She an authoress, a woman possessing great powers of fascination, hilarious good humour, generosity and kindness. But the whole establishment was conducted on a reckless want of principle, which almost amounted to dishonesty. An income of £2,000 a year could not possibly support an expenditure of over £4,000. In the spring of 1849 came the crash. Bill-discounters, money-lenders, jewellers, lace-vendors, tax-collectors, and gas company agents became urgent in their claims. For some time the house had been closed like a fortress against possible sheriff's officers, and Count D'Orsay had not dared to venture out, ex

cept on Sundays, or in the dusk of the evening. At length the fortress was entered by stratagem.

"Bah," said the Count incredulously, when told that a sheriff's officer was in the house. On the next morning, he left with his valet and one portmanteau for Paris. Thither the Countess followed him. In their prosperity Louis Napoleon, then an exile, now President of the French Republic, had been their frequent guest; he seems now to have done little for his old friends. Lady Blessington began to furnish splendidly in Paris, but in June she died, and before long D'Orsay followed her to the grave. A sad and painful story, too sad and painful for us to wish to linger over it.

One more tenant of Gore House, and we have done. We are happy to say that it is a man who will put us into a good humour again. The world owes far

more to Alexis Soyer than to

Count D'Orsay. In

1851 Soyer opened Gore House as a restaurant for 'all nations," during the great Exhibition. Soyer might be considered as the leader of domestic economy for the people. If he could only have lived to have seen the school of cookery at South Ken

sington! Soyer, perfect master as he was of the gastronomic art, did not consider cookery for the people beneath his notice, and many parts of his little work on this subject are as interesting as any novel. There is a mixture of Athens and fryingpans, Pythagoras and Irish stew, Napoleon and cocka-leckie, in his receipts which is really quite charming. He seems to have cared for the palates of the poor as well as those of the rich, and while his dinners at three guineas a head are said to have been almost perfect, he took much interest in the starving Irish, and declared they would never emerge from semi-barbarianism until they had learned to cook properly.. We remember hearing of a French chef-de-cuisine who, in a rough estimate respecting a supper which he presented to his master, had put down fifty hams, only one of which was to appear on the table, the other forty-nine being required for sauces and garnishes. When the master remonstrated, the cook offered if the hams perturbed him to melt them down into a little glass bottle no bigger than his thumb. Soyer, on the other hand, tells us how, by judicious cookery, more than one hundred thousand tons of