m for some strange error of my
artiste's, by which common vinegar had been substituted for Chili--who
told me--what think you he told me? You cannot guess; he told me,
forsooth, that he did not care what he eat; and, for his part, he could
make a very good dinner off a beef-steak! Why the deuce, then, did
he come and dine with me? Could he have said any thing more cutting?
Imagine my indignation, when I looked round my table and saw so many
good things thrown away upon such an idiot."

Scarcely was the last word out of the gourmand's mouth before the noble
personage so designated, joined us. It amused me to see Guloseton's
contempt (which he scarcely took the pains to suppress) of a person whom
all Europe honoured, and his evident weariness of a companion, whose
society every one else would have coveted as the summum bonum of worldly
distinction. As for me, feeling any thing but social, I soon left the
ill-matched pair, and rode into the other park.

Just as I entered it, I perceived, on a dull, yet cross-looking pony,
Mr. Wormwood, of bitter memory. Although we had not met since our mutual
sojourn at Sir Lionel Garratt's, and were then upon very cool terms of
acquaintance, he seemed resolved to recognize and claim me.

"My dear Sir," said he, with a ghastly smile, "I am rejoiced once more
to see you; bless me, how pale you look. I heard you had been very ill.
Pray have you been yet to that man who professes to cure consumption in
the worst stages?"

"Yes," said I, "he read me two or three letters of reference from the
patients he had cured. His last, he said, was a gentleman very far gone;
a Mr. Wormwood."

"Oh, you are pleased to be facetious," said the cynic, coldly--"but pray
do tell me about that horrid affair at Chester Park. How disagreeable it
must have been to you to be taken up on suspicion of the murder."

"Sir," said I, haughtily, "what do you mean?"

"Oh, you were not--wern't you? Well, I always thought it unlikely; but
every one says so--"

"My dear Sir," I rejoined, "how long is it since you have minded what
every body says? If I were so foolish, I should not be riding with you
now; but I have always said, in contradiction to every body, and even in
spite of being universally laughed at for my singular opinion, that
you, my dear Mr. Wormwood, were by no means silly, nor ignorant, nor
insolent, nor intrusive; that you were, on the contrary, a very decent
author, and a very good sort of man; and th