re-entered the stationer's shop, at the door of which she had been standing.

"Let us enter," said Vincent: "I want some sealingwax."

I desired no second invitation: we marched into the shop. My Armida was leaning on the arm of an old lady. She blushed deeply when she saw us enter; and, as ill-luck would have it, the old lady concluded her purchases the moment after, and they withdrew.

666 Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparalleled !'"

justly observed my companion.

I made no reply. All the remainder of that day I was absent and reserved; and Vincent, perceiving that I no longer laughed at his jokes, nor smiled at his quotations, told me I was sadly changed for the worse, and pretended an engagement, to rid himself of an auditor so obtuse.

CHAPTER XLII.

Tout notre mal vient de ne pouvoir être seuls; de là le jeu, le luxe, la dissipation, le vin, les femmes, l'ignorance, la médisance l'envie, l'oubli de soi-même et de Dieu. LA BRUYÈRE.

THE next day I resolved to call upon Tyrrell, seeing that he had not yet kept his promise of anticipating me, and being very desirous not to lose any opportunity of improving my acquaintance with him; accordingly, I sent my valet to make inquiries as to his abode. I found that he lodged in the same hotel as myself; and having previously ascertained that he was at home, I was ushered by the head-waiter into the gamester's apartment.

He was sitting by the fire in a listless, yet thoughtful attitude. His muscular and rather handsome person was indued in a dressing-gown of rich brocade, thrown on with a slovenly nonchalance. His stockings were about his heels, his hair was dishevelled, and the light, streaming through the half-drawn window-curtains, rested upon the gray flakes with which its darker luxuriance was interspersed; and the cross light in which he had the imprudence or misfortune to sit, fully developed the deep wrinkles which years and dissipation had planted round his eyes and mouth. I was quite startled at the oldness and haggardness of his appearance.

He rose gracefully enough when I was announced; and no sooner had the waiter retired than he came up to me, shook me warmly by the hand, and said, "Let me thank you now for the attention you formerly

showed me, when I was less able to express my acknowledgments. I shall be proud to cultivate your intimacy."

I answered him in the same strain, and in the course of conversation made myself so entertaining, that he agreed to spend the remainder of the day with me. We ordered our horses at three and our dinner at seven, and I left him till the former were ready, in order to allow him time for his toilet.

ance.

During our ride we talked principally on general subjects, on the various differences of France and England, on horses, on wines, on women, on politics; on all things except that which had created our acquaintHis remarks were those of a strong, ill-regulated mind, which had made experience supply the place of the reasoning faculties; there was a looseness in his sentiments, and a licentiousness in his opinions, which startled even me (used as I had been to rakes of all schools); his philosophy was of that species which thinks that the best maxim of wisdom is- to despise. Of men, he spoke with the bitterness of hatred; of women, with the levity of contempt. France had taught him its debaucheries, but not the elegance which refines them: if his sentiments were low, the language in which they were clothed was meaner still: and that which makes the morality of the upper classes, and which no criminal is supposed to be hardy enough to reject, that religion which has no scoffers, that code which has no impugners, that honor among gentlemen which constitutes the moving principle of the society in which they live; he seemed to imagine, even in its most fundamental laws, was an authority to which nothing but the inexperience of the young and the credulity of the romantic could accede.

Upon the whole, he seemed to me a "bold, bad man," with just enough of intellect to teach him to be a villain, without that higher degree which shows him that it is the worst course for his interest; and just enough of daring to make him indifferent to the dangers of guilt, though it was not sufficient to make him conquer and control them. For the rest, he loved trotting better than cantering, piqued himself upon being manly, wore doeskin gloves, drank port wine par préférence, and considered beef-steaks and oystersauce as the most delicate dish in the bill of fare. I think now, reader, you have a tolerably good view of his character.

After dinner, when we were discussing the second bottle, I thought it would not be a bad opportunity to question him upon his acquaintance with Glanville. His countenance fell directly I mentioned that name. However, he rallied himself. "Oh," said he, “you mean the soi-disant Warburton. I knew him some years back, he was a poor, silly youth, half mad, I believe, and particularly hostile to me, owing to some foolish disagreement when he was quite a boy."

"What was the cause?" said I.

"Nothing, nothing of any consequence," answered Tyrrell; and then added, with an air of coxcombry, "I believe I was more fortunate than he in a certain intrigue. Poor Glanville is a little romantic, you know. But enough of this now; shall we go to the rooms?"

"With pleasure," said I; and to the rooms we went.

Since I came hither I have heard strange news. - King Lear.

Two days after my long conversation with Tyrrell, I called again upon that worthy. To my great surprise he had left Cheltenham. I then strolled to Vincent; I found him lolling on his sofa, surrounded, as usual, with books and papers.

"Come in, Pelham," said he, as I hesitated at the threshold," come in. I have been delighting myself with Plato all the morning; I scarcely know what it is that enchants us so much with the ancients. I rather believe, with Schlegel, that it is that air of perfect repose, the stillness of a deep soul, which rests over their writings. Whatever would appear commonplace amongst us, has with them I know not what of sublimity and pathos. Triteness seems the profundity of truth, — wildness, the daring of a luxuriant imagination. The fact is that, in spite of every fault, you see through all the traces of original thought: there is a contemplative grandeur in their sentiments, which seems to have nothing borrowed in its meaning or its dress. Take, for instance, this fragment of Mimnermus on the shortness of life; what subject can seem more tame? what less striking than the feelings he expresses? - and yet throughout every line there is a melancholy depth and tenderness which it is impossible to define. Of all English writers who partake the most of this spirit of