skill. He relieves you, it is true,--but of your
money, not your malady; and the only branch of his profession in which
he is an adept is that which enables him to bleed you! O mankind!"
continued Augustus, "what noble creatures you ought to be! You have keys
to all sciences, all arts, all mysteries, but one! You have not a notion
how you ought to be governed; you cannot frame a tolerable law, for the
life and soul of you! You make yourselves as uncomfortable as you can by
all sorts of galling and vexatious institutions, and you throw the blame
upon 'Fate.' You lay down rules it is impossible to comprehend, much
less to obey; and you call each other monsters, because you cannot
conquer the impossibility! You invent all sorts of vices, under pretence
of making laws for preserving virtue; and the anomalous artificialities
of conduct yourselves produce, you say you are born with; you make a
machine by the perversest art you can think of, and you call it, with
a sigh, 'Human Nature.' With a host of good dispositions struggling at
your breasts, you insist upon libelling the Almighty, and declaring that
he meant you to be wicked. Nay, you even call the man mischievous and
seditious who begs and implores you to be one jot better than you are. O
mankind! you are like a nosegay bought at Covent Garden. The flowers are
lovely, the scent delicious. Mark that glorious hue; contemplate that
bursting petal! How beautiful, how redolent of health, of nature, of the
dew and breath and blessing of Heaven, are you all! But as for the dirty
piece of string that ties you together, one would think you had picked
it out of the kennel."

So saying, Tomlinson turned on his heel, broke away from the crowd, and
solemnly descended the hill. The party of pleasure slowly followed;
and Clifford, receiving an invitation from the squire to partake of his
family dinner, walked by the side of Lucy, and felt as if his spirit
were drunk with the airs of Eden.

A brother squire, who among the gayeties of Bath was almost as forlorn
as Joseph Brandon himself, partook of the Lord of Warlock's hospitality.
When the three gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, the two
elder sat down to a game at backgammon, and Clifford was left to the
undisturbed enjoyment of Lucy's conversation. She was sitting by the
window when Clifford joined her. On the table by her side were scattered
books, the charm of which (they were chiefly poetry) she had only
of late learned to