guments which naturally suggested themselves as best calculated to
convince and soften Castruccio; and he did this with so much evident
sympathy and kindness, that at length the Italian could no longer
justify his own resentment. A reconciliation took place, sincere on the
part of Maltravers, hollow on the part of Cesarini; for the disappointed
author could not forgive the successful one.

"And how long shall you stay in London?"

"Some months."

"Send for your luggage, and be my guest."

"No; I have taken lodgings that suit me. I am formed for solitude."

"While you stay here, you will, however, go into the world."

"Yes, I have some letters of introduction, and I hear that the English
can honour merit, even in an Italian."

"You hear the truth, and it will amuse you, at least, to see our eminent
men. They will receive you most hospitably. Let me assist you as a
cicerone."

"Oh, your _valuable_ time!"

"Is at your disposal: but where are you going?"

"It is Sunday, and I have had my curiosity excited to hear a celebrated
preacher--Mr. ------, who they tell me, is now more talked of than _any
author_ in London."

"They tell you truly--I will go with you--I myself have not yet heard
him, but proposed to do so this very day."

"Are you not jealous of a man so much spoken of?"

"Jealous!--why, I never set up for a popular preacher!--_ce n'est pas
mon metier_."

"If I were a _successful_ author, I should be jealous if the
dancing-dogs were talked of."

"No, my dear Cesarini, I am sure you would not. You are a little
irritated at present by natural disappointment; but the man who has as
much success as he deserves is never morbidly jealous, even of a rival
in his own line. Want of success sours us; but a little sunshine smiles
away the vapours. Come, we have no time to lose."

Maltravers took his hat, and the two young men bent their way to ------
Chapel. Cesarini still retained the singular fashion of his dress,
though it was now made of handsomer materials, and worn with more
coxcombry and pretension. He had much improved in person--had been
admired in Paris, and told that he looked like a man of genius--and,
with his black ringlets flowing over his shoulders, his long moustache,
his broad Spanish-shaped hat, and eccentric garb, he certainly did not
look like other people. He smiled with contempt at the plain dress of
his companion. "I see," said he, "that you follow the fashion, and look
as if you pas