a newly arrived
earl, whose hunters were that very day sold at Tattersall's, and whose
beautiful countess, horror-stricken at the ruin so unexpectedly come
upon them, was lying dangerously ill at her father's house in London.
The young peer, indeed, bore up with a fortitude that attracted the
highest encomiums, and from an audience the greater portion of which
knew in their own persons most of the ills he suffered. He exchanged an
easy nod or a familiar shake of the hand with several acquaintances, not
seen before for many a day, and seemed to think that the severest blow
fortune had dealt him was the miserable price his stud would fetch at
such a time of the year.

'The old story,' said Wycherley, as he shook him by the hand, and told
him his address--'the old story; he thought twenty thousand a year would
do anything, but it won't though. If men will keep a house in town, and
another in Gloucestershire, with a pack of fox-hounds, and have four
horses in training at Doncaster--not to speak of a yacht at Cowes and
some other fooleries--they must come to the Jews; and when they come to
the Jews, the pace is faster than for the Derby itself. Two hundred per
cent, is sharp practice, and I can tell you not uncommon either; and
then when a man does begin to topple, his efforts to recover always ruin
him. It's like a fall from your horse--make a struggle, and you 're sure
to break your leg or your collar-bone; take it kindly, and the chances
are that you get up all right again, after the first shock.'

I did not like either the tone or the morality of my companion; but I
well knew both were the conventional coinage of his set, and I suffered
him to continue without interruption.

'There's Mosely Cranmer,' said he, pointing to a slight,
effeminate-looking young man, with a most girlish softness about his
features. He was dressed in the very extreme of fashion, and displayed
all that array of jewelry in pins, diamond vest-buttons, and rings,
so frequently assumed by modern dandyism. His voice was a thin reedy
treble, scarcely deep enough for a child.

'Who is he, and what is he doing here?' asked I.

'He is the heir to about eighty thousand per annum, to begin with,' said
Wycherley, 'which he has already dipped beyond redemption. So far for
his property. As to what he is doing here, you may have seen in
the _Times_ last week that he shot an officer of the Guards in a
duel--killed him on the spot. The thing was certain--Cra