ion, was a bath room. The decorations of this room were of
a delicate rose colour: the bath, which was of the most elaborate
workmanship, represented, in the whitest marble, a shell, supported
by two Tritons. There was, as Glanville afterwards explained to me, a
machine in this room which kept up a faint but perpetual breeze, and the
light curtains, waving to and fro, scattered about perfumes of the most
exquisite odour.

Through this luxurious chamber I was led, by the obsequious and bowing
valet, into a fourth room, in which, opposite to a toilet of massive
gold, and negligently robed in his dressing-gown, sate Reginald
Glanville:--"Good Heavens," thought I, as I approached him, "can this be
the man who made his residence par choix, in a miserable hovel, exposed
to all the damps, winds, and vapours, that the prolific generosity of an
English Heaven ever begot?"

Our meeting was cordial in the extreme. Glanville, though still pale and
thin, appeared in much better health than I had yet seen him since our
boyhood. He was, or affected to be, in the most joyous spirits; and when
his dark blue eye lighted up, in answer to the merriment of his lips,
and his noble and glorious cast of countenance shone out, as if it had
never been clouded by grief or passion, I thought, as I looked at him,
that I had never seen so perfect a specimen of masculine beauty, at once
physical and intellectual.

"My dear Pelham," said Glanville, "let us see a great deal of each
other: I live very much alone: I have an excellent cook, sent me over
from France, by the celebrated gourmand Marechal de--. I dine every day
exactly at eight, and never accept an invitation to dine elsewhere.
My table is always laid for three, and you will, therefore, be sure
of finding a dinner here every day you have no better engagement. What
think you of my taste in furnishing?"

"I have only to say," answered I, "that since I am so often to dine with
you, I hope your taste in wines will be one half as good."

"We are all," said Glanville, with a faint smile, "we are all, in the
words of the true old proverb, 'children of a larger growth.'Our first
toy is love--our second, display, according as our ambition prompts us
to exert it. Some place it in horses--some in honours, some in feasts,
and some--voici un exemple--in furniture. So true it is, Pelham, that
our earliest longings are the purest: in love, we covet goods for
the sake of the one beloved; in display, for