ch in the end must be
denied to them, you sow in their young minds the seeds of discontent
and uneasiness. You are rich, full of youth, and yet withdraw yourself
from all society, and thus frustrate the approaches of well-meaning
minds. I will believe that the death of your parents may have shaken
you, but if every one, who has suffered a real loss, were to creep into
his shell, by heavens! the whole world would be like a house of
mourning, and I would not live in it. But, my friend! do you know that
you are under the influence of the most determined egotism that ever
lurked beneath a silly misanthropy?--Go, go, Peregrine, I can no longer
esteem you, no longer be your friend, if you do not change this way of
life, and give up your abominable system of house-keeping."

Peregrine snapped his fingers, and Master Flea instantly placed the
microscopic glass in his eye. The thoughts of the angry Pepusch ran
thus,--"Is it not a pity that such a kind, understanding man should
fall into these dangerous fancies, which at last will completely
unnerve him, and deprive him of his best powers? But it is evident that
his delicate mind, which is besides inclined to melancholy, could not
endure the blow inflicted on him by the death of his parents, and he
seeks for consolation in a mode of life which borders upon madness. He
is lost if I do not save him. The more I esteem him, the harder I will
attack him, and the stronger I will paint his folly."

In these thoughts Peregrine saw that he had found his old friend
unaltered; and, after Master Flea had taken the microscopic glass out
of his eye, he said, "George, I will not contend with you as to what
you say of my mode of life, for I know you mean it well with me; but I
must tell you that it gives me real delight when I can make a day of
festival to the poor, although in this I do not think of myself, a
detestable egotism, of which at least I feel unconscious. They are the
flowers in my life, which else seems to me like a wild melancholy field
of thistles."

"What do you say of thistles?" interrupted George Pepusch hastily; "why
do you despise thistles, and place them in opposition to flowers? Are
you so little versed in natural history as not to know that the most
wonderful blossom in the world is that of the thistle, I mean the
_Cactus grandiflorus_. And again, is not the thistle, Zeherit, the most
beautiful Cactus under the sun? Peregrine, I have so long kept it from
you, or rather