"All right; a greenhead, but a trojan. Don't peery, you should know twenty hundred weight by this time."

"Ay," rejoined the woman, unhitching the chain, "but I'm obliged to look out, for fear of the bene feakers."

We were now admitted and ushered into a back-parlour by Mrs. Richards, who handed each of us a black silk mask and a domino, by which we were completely disguised. While he was robing, Singleton held a conversation with the harridan, the purport of which seemed to be to inquire what persons were up the dancers. She replied by flash names similar to twenty hundred weight, which I guessed to be a punning translation of Single-ton. When we were going up-stairs, the landlady stopped us, by saying to my companion, "Tip me the jobs now, if you please, Sir, to prevent mistakes." Singleton put his hand in his pocket, but of course finding nothing there, he whispered to me to produce a couple of guineas, which must be paid previous to our admission. I disbursed the money to Mrs. Richards, who thereupon bade us follow her. We ascended to the second-floor, and were admitted through an anti-chamber into a large room at the back of the house.

What I beheld in the exhibition-room is not to be particularly described. There were between sixty and seventy persons, disguised like ourselves, viewing a spectacle which might have been an allowable study for a painter or a statuary, but was disgusting when contemplated by gross-minded profligates who could not claim the motives by which artists might have been actuated in witnessing such an exhibition.

"Well," whispered Singleton to me, "what do you think of this sight? Is it not splendid? Do you not view it-"

"With disgust!" interrupted I, emphatically.

"Indeed!" returned my companion; "I am surprised to hear you use such language; I thought you would have looked upon it with the eye of science and taste."

"Neither science nor taste can be gratified with an exhibition, the character of which is a gross violation of decency and morality. I am ready to leave this place at your earliest convenience."

Singleton took the hint, and accompanied me out of the room forthwith. The harridan met me at the foot of the stairs, and asked me, with a simper, if I had been well entertained. I took off the mask and gown, and flinging them in her face, walked out of the house, leaving Singleton to follow at his leisure. He came immediately after, and expressed his regret that I had taken a wrong view of the matter, observing, that the vice or innocence of such spectacles was not inherent in themselves, but in the spectators. "I perfectly agree with you,' answered I, coolly. No more was said upon the subject, and we scarcely exchanged a syllable upon any other, until we ar

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rived again in Oxford-street. Singleton there took leave of me, with evident constraint in his manner, and walked off, heartily ashamed of himself. I got into a hackney-coach and drove home.

CHAPTER XXV.

Ir was rather a remarkable coincidence, which I have not had a convenient opportunity of noticing before, that on my return to London, I should have met with the two individuals whom Auriol's story had rendered interesting to me-I mean Lady Skeffington and Mr. Richard Vernon:. the latter person having just returned from his foreign tour, had made his first debut in town this season. I procured myself to be introduced to him as soon as possible, and cultivated his acquaintance, in doing which the young gentleman himself afforded me every facility, being flattered by the attentions of one who was somewhat celebrated in his way. However, being the reputed heir of a very wealthy uncle, and possessing in addition to this main charm the inferior graces of elegant manners, lively conversation, and personal beauty, Mr. Richard Vernon easily made his way into fashionable society. He was, as Auriol had represented him, a youth of much talent and enthusiasm of character; he likewise appeared to be of a generous and amiable disposition. Although dazzled and delighted, as every young man is when first launched upon the town, fashion neither possessed nor seemed likely to gain his heart. He was an aspirant for the fame, not indeed of poetry, but of politics. He thought a Whig the noblest creation of the Almighty, and a Tory, I believe, little short of a disgrace to his species. His uncle, who was of the same political persuasion, though in a more sober degree, intended putting his nephew up for a popular borough at the next general election.

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Accordingly, I took him by the hand, introduced him as "my young friend," "a young gentleman of considerable promise, to several eminent Whigs, who received him with the smiles and civil speeches befitting such recommendations. Having been taught to believe that a dissolution of Parliament would at all events take place at the close of the present session, he began very sedulously to prepare himself for the decided character of a statesman, which he should be so soon called upon to assume. Whenever we met, he immediately plunged into politics, nor could I prevent him, although it was sometimes annoying enough to be lugged into the sea of discussion. He endeavoured to navigate every "question," whether he had fathomed it or not, and frequently, of course, floundered sadly. This propen

sity I should have considered a bad symptom, had it not arisen from that confidence which (as Auriol well observed) we find in some precocious youths who have made up their minds upon every subject before they are out of their teens; but Vernon always deferred to my opinion as to that of any other equal or superior authority, and seemed to talk politics chiefly for practice, although he thereby committed as absurd an error, as if he should have parried and lunged by way of practice before he had learned to fence.

As soon as our acquaintance had become matured to a degree, of intimacy, I told him the story of my meeting with Auriol, and every particular of that part of it which related to himself. While I was speaking I keenly observed his countenance, which was always instantaneously and remarkably expressive of his emotions; but I saw nothing therein to revive those doubts which, in proportion as I had become more and more acquainted with him, had disappeared from my mind.

"I am more obliged to you than I can express," said he, when I had finished my detail, for having communicated to me these circumstances, and thus afforded me an opportunity of explaining my conduct in an affair, which, when it occurred, filled me with poignant anguish, and which I have never since thought of without very painful feelings. All that Auriol has told you respecting our acquaintance and friendship is perfectly correct. I did when a boy regard him with enthusiastic admiration as a first-rate genius, and I loved him with the most sincere affection for his boundless kindness to myself, and for the noble qualities of his nature. Although my maturer years have enabled me to perceive much delusion in the former particular, yet I still retain a high sense of his poetical talents, and the memory of the latter I cherish with the tenderest esteem and regret, because I am still unaware of having formed too high an estimate of the generosity of his character. The period which I passed in the society of Randal Auriol I already look back to as the golden days of my happiness, and if he regarded me as one who would ripen into a sincere and congenial friend, I looked forward with equal pleasure to our uninterrupted intercourse. It is true that I was deeply imbued with the love of poetry, and was determined to follow no other profession or pursuit. I believe, if my first friend had happened to be a mathematician, I should have worshipped Euclid with equal ardour and sincerity-such is the enthusiasm of my character.

"But soon after I went to the University, I began to suspect that all other objects of ambition, when compared with poetical renown, were not so contemptible as I had once believed them to be. None of my college companions were.romantic; whenever I spoke (parrot-like, for I had then no opinions but those

of my friend) rapturously of Milton, or Gray, or C-1, or S-t, or W- -th

"The last-mentioned," said I, as he named three living geniuses, who were among the most acceptable devotees of the Muse," you must have admired on your own responsibility, for you know our friend Auriol thinks meanly of his contemporaries, I believe, without exception."

"What can have put that into your head?" returned Vernon; "he always felt and professed—at least when I was acquainted with him very high esteem for the living poets, especially those whom I have named."

"I believe you have not had any intercourse with him since the failure of his book ?"

"I have not seen him since the publication of it," answered Vernon, rather surprised at the abruptness of my question.

"I beg pardon," said 1, for interrupting you; "proceed with your detail."

"Whenever," resumed Vernon, "I praised poets, they would coldly acquiesce in my admiration (as they said) of those delightful writers; but when I declared myself devoted to the Muse, they at first stared and smiled, and afterwards made my attachment a standard joke. Annoyed and disgusted, I complained in my letters to Auriol of the want of sympathy which I found in my present society. His replies mentioned my companions in terms of contempt, and desired me to keep aloof from them, lest they should corrupt the purity of my taste and morals.

"For a time I obeyed his instructions; but when the first shock to my feelings had been recovered, I determined to dissemble my poetical feelings, and return to the society of the collegians, who, except in one point, I admitted were very agreeable fellows. Among them I heard for the first time discussions upon politics, the House of Commons, tales of statesmen, and anecdotes of eloquence, in which I could not help feeling much interested. I was then introduced to a debating society; but not to weary you with the impertinence of my own feelings and follies, it is sufficient to say, that my attachment to the Muse shared the fate which first loves usually experience, and was succeeded by a new and more permanent passion-I mean politics, to which I have ever since been and ever shall remain constant.

"This revolution in my sentiments, although it did not in the least affect my interest in his success or my friendship for him, I feared to communicate to Auriol, at least by letter. I still continued to write to him, therefore, in my former style, and expressed all that anxiety for the appearance of his volume which I really felt, although I was no longer conscious of that

supreme confidence in its success which his own hopes had chiefly inspired in me.

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"Among my fellow-students were a few clever young men, who exercised their talents in writing essays and humorous pieces, which they sent to the London periodical I was press. induced, by their persuasion and commendation of my abilities, to become likewise a scribbler, and accordingly produced some trifles, which were inserted in a literary publication of high repute. These perpetrations' I carefully concealed from Auriol, who therefore believed me faithful in thought, word, and deed, to the Muse. Deeply did I subsequently regret my want of candour! My friend's volume of poems at length came out, and, as you know, was an utter failure. About this time the editor of the publication in which I had previously written, applied to me in a very flattering manner to continue my contributions. I was very willing to comply with his request, and in an unlucky hour I selected for the subject of a humorous the idea of a pretender to poetry, who, without any real genius, should be surprised and enraged that the public is wholly blind to his merits.

paper

"In filling up this sketch, some eccentricities in my friend's habits wandered through my mind, and were attached to the imaginary individual whom I was portraying, but never dreaming that I had thus thrown into it one feature of resemblance to Auriol: I was lamentably mistaken. A few days after my essay had appeared in print, I was horror-stricken at receiving from Auriol a frantic letter, demanding in the most incoherent terms of passionate invective, to know if I was the author of the paper written in ridicule of him, and signed with my initials, which had appeared in the periodical before mentioned? Having calmed the first overpowering emotions raised in my breast by this dreadful suspicion of treason against my friend, I wrote a long reply, in which I endeavoured to disabuse him, alternately by earnest reasoning, solemn protestations, and passionate exclamations of my innocence.

"But my efforts were ineffectual; in about a week I received the blighting letter, which he told you of his having written to me. All my subsequent attempts to expostulate with him were fruitless. I wrote, but he returned my letters unopened. Distracted at the idea of losing a friend whom I so truly loved, and of appearing to him as the basest of mankind, I hurried down from Oxford to the country with the hope of making him listen to me in person. I surprised him by a sudden appearance, but he spurned me from him as a loathed thing. I spoke to my uncle, but he told me that his mediation would be in vain, as he had already spoken to Auriol on the subject, and found him implacable. He told me to think no more about it, as there was