our own: thus, our first
stratum of mind produces fruit for others; our second becomes niggardly,
and bears only sufficient for ourselves. But enough of my morals--will
you drive me out, if I dress quicker than you ever saw man dress
before?"

"No," said I; "for I make it a rule never to drive out a badly dressed
friend; take time, and I will let you accompany me."

"So be it then. Do you ever read? If so, my books are made to be opened,
and you may toss them over while I am at my toilet."

"You are very good," said I, "but I never do read."

"Look--here," said Glanville, "are two works, one of poetry--one on the
Catholic Question--both dedicated to me. Seymour--my waistcoat. See what
it is to furnish a house differently from other people; one becomes a
bel esprit, and a Mecaenas, immediately. Believe me, if you are
rich enough to afford it, that there is no passport to fame like
eccentricity. Seymour--my coat. I am at your service, Pelham. Believe
hereafter that one may dress well in a short time?"

"One may do it, but not two--allons!"

I observed that Glanville was dressed in the deepest mourning, and
imagined, from that circumstance, and his accession to the title I heard
applied to him for the first time, that his father was only just dead.
In this opinion I was soon undeceived. He had been dead for some years.
Glanville spoke to me of his family;--"To my mother," said he, "I am
particularly anxious to introduce you--of my sister, I say nothing; I
expect you to be surprised with her. I love her more than any thing on
earth now," and as Glanville said this, a paler shade passed over his
face.

We were in the Park--Lady Roseville passed us--we both bowed to her; as
she returned our greeting, I was struck with the deep and sudden blush
which overspread her countenance. "Can that be for me?" thought I. I
looked towards Glanville: his countenance had recovered its serenity,
and was settled into its usual proud, but not displeasing, calmness of
expression.

"Do you know Lady Roseville well?" said I. "Very," answered Glanville,
laconically, and changed the conversation. As we were leaving the Park,
through Cumberland Gate, we were stopped by a blockade of carriages; a
voice, loud, harsh, and vulgarly accented, called out to Glanville by
his name. I turned, and saw Thornton.

"For God's sake, Pelham, drive on," cried Glanville; "let me, for once,
escape that atrocious plebeian."

Thornton was crossing the roa