le? What hand will tremble as it touches
the paper inscribed by that of Brudenel? The graceful Godolphin, the
sparkling enchantment of Harper, the divine voice of Claverine, the
gentle and bashful Bridgewater, the damask cheek and ruby lips of the
Hebe Manchester,--what will these be to the race for whom alone these
pages are penned? This history is a union of strange contrasts! like
the tree of the Sun, described by Marco Polo, which was green when
approached on one side, but white when perceived on the other: to me it
is clothed in the verdure and spring of the existing time; to the reader
it comes covered with the hoariness and wanness of the Past!

CHAPTER VII.

A DIALOGUE OF SENTIMENT SUCCEEDED BY THE SKETCH OF A CHARACTER, IN WHOSE
EYES SENTIMENT WAS TO WISE MEN WHAT RELIGION IS TO FOOLS; NAMELY, A
SUBJECT OF RIDICULE.

ST. JOHN was now in power, and in the full flush of his many ambitious
and restless schemes. I saw as much of him as the high rank he held
in the state, and the consequent business with which he was oppressed,
would suffer me,--me, who was prevented by religion from actively
embracing any political party, and who, therefore, though inclined to
Toryism, associated pretty equally with all. St. John and myself formed
a great friendship for each other, a friendship which no after change
or chance could efface, but which exists, strengthened and mellowed by
time, at the very hour in which I write.

One evening he sent to tell me he should be alone, if I would sup with
him; accordingly I repaired to his house. He was walking up and down the
room with uneven and rapid steps, and his countenance was flushed
with an expression of joy and triumph, very rare to the thoughtful and
earnest calm which it usually wore. "Congratulate me, Devereux," said
he, seizing me eagerly by the hand, "congratulate me!"

"For what?"

"Ay, true: you are not yet a politician; you cannot yet tell how
dear--how inexpressibly dear to a politician--is a momentary and petty
victory,--but--if I were Prime Minister of this country, what would you
say?"

"That you could bear the duty better than any man living; but remember
Harley is in the way."

"Ah, there's the rub," said St. John, slowly, and the expression of
his face again changed from triumph to thoughtfulness; "but this is a
subject not to your taste: let us choose another." And flinging himself
into a chair, this singular man, who prided himself on suiting his
co