ing home from Glanville's house. "His is, indeed,
the disease nulla medicabilis herba. Whether it is the past or the
present that afflicts him--whether it is the memory of past evil, or
the satiety of present good, he has taken to his heart the bitterest
philosophy of life. He does not reject its blessings--he gathers them
around him, but as a stone gathers moss--cold, hard, unsoftened by the
freshness and the greenness which surround it. As a circle can only
touch a circle in one place, every thing that life presents to
him, wherever it comes from--to whatever portion of his soul it is
applied--can find but one point of contact; and that is the soreness of
affliction: whether it is the oblivio or the otium that he requires,
he finds equally that he is for ever in want of one treasure:--'neque
gemmis neque purpura venale nec auro.'"

CHAPTER XLVIII.

Mons. Jourdain. Etes-vous fou de l'aller quereller' lui qui entend la
tierce et la quarte, et qui sait tuer un homme par raison demonstrative?

Le Maitre a Danser. Je me moque de sa raison demonstrative, et de sa
tierce et de sa quarte.--Moliere.

"Hollo, my good friend; how are you?--d--d glad to see you in England,"
vociferated a loud, clear, good-humoured voice, one cold morning, as I
was shivering down Brook-street, into Bond-street. I turned, and beheld
Lord Dartmore, of Rocher de Cancale memory. I returned his greeting with
the same cordiality with which it was given: and I was forthwith saddled
with Dartmore's arm, and dragged up Bond-street, into that borough of
all noisy, riotous, unrefined, good fellows--yclept--'s Hotel.

Here we were soon plunged into a small, low apartment, which Dartmore
informed me was his room. It was crowded with a score of masculine
looking youths, at whose very appearance my gentler frame shuddered from
head to foot. However, I put as good a face on the matter as I possibly
could, and affected a freedom and frankness of manner, correspondent
with the unsophisticated tempers with which I was so unexpectedly
brought into contact.

Dartmore was still gloriously redolent of Oxford: his companions were
all extracts from Christchurch; and his favourite occupations were
boxing and hunting--scenes at the Fives' Court--nights in the Cider
Cellar--and mornings at Bowstreet. Figure to yourself a fitter companion
for the hero and writer of these adventures! The table was covered with
boxing gloves, single sticks, two ponderous pair of dum