great favourite, and at whose death he expected to come into a yet
greater property than that which he inherited from his parents.

Such is a brief account of Francis Ardry--of my friend Francis Ardry; for
the acquaintance, commenced in the singular manner with which the reader
is acquainted, speedily ripened into a friendship which endured through
many long years of separation, and which still endures certainly on my
part, and on his--if he lives; but it is many years since I have heard
from Francis Ardry.

And yet many people would have thought it impossible for our friendship
to have lasted a week, for in many respects no two people could be more
dissimilar. He was an Irishman, I an Englishman; he fiery, enthusiastic
and open-hearted, I neither fiery, enthusiastic nor open-hearted; he fond
of pleasure and dissipation, I of study and reflection. Yet it is of
such dissimilar elements that the most lasting friendships are formed: we
do not like counterparts of ourselves. "Two great talkers will not
travel far together," is a Spanish saying; I will add, "Nor two silent
people"; we naturally love our opposites.

So Francis Ardry came to see me, and right glad I was to see him, for I
had just flung my books and papers aside, and was wishing for a little
social converse; and when we had conversed for some little time together,
Francis Ardry proposed that we should go to the play to see Kean; so we
went to the play, and saw--not Kean, who at that time was ashamed to show
himself, but--a man who was not ashamed to show himself, and who people
said was a much better man than Kean--as I have no doubt he was--though
whether he was a better actor I cannot say, for I never saw Kean. {210}

Two or three evenings after, Francis Ardry came to see me again, and
again we went out together, and Francis Ardry took me to--shall I
say?--why not?--a gaming-house, where I saw people playing, and where I
saw Francis Ardry play and lose five guineas, and where I lost nothing,
because I did not play, though I felt somewhat inclined; for a man with a
white hat and a sparkling eye held up a box which contained something
which rattled, and asked me to fling the bones. "There is nothing like
flinging the bones!" said he, and then I thought I should like to know
what kind of thing flinging the bones was; I, however, restrained myself.
"There is nothing like flinging the bones!" shouted the man, as my friend
and myself left the room.

Long