sed to find the way better and the inns more comfortable than he
looked for. In the main, men and women are very good; our mistake is,
expecting to find people always in our own humor. Now, if one is
very rich, this is practical enough; but the mass must be content to
encounter disparity of mood and difference of taste at every step.
There is, therefore, some tact required in conforming to these
'irregularities,' and unhappily everybody has not got tact.

"You, charming Princess, have tact; but you have beauty, wit,
fascination, rank,--all that can grace high station, and all that high
station can reflect upon great natural gifts; that _you_ should see the
world through a rose-tinted medium is a very condition of your identity;
and there is truth, as well as good philosophy, in this view! You have
often told me that if people were not exactly all that strict moralists
might wish, yet that they made up a society very pleasant and livable
withal, and that there was also a floating capital of kindness and
good feeling quite sufficient to trade upon, and even grow richer by
negotiating!

"People who live out of the world, or, what comes to the same
thing, in a little world of their own, are ever craving after
perfectibility,--just as, in time of peace, nations only accept in their
armies six-foot grenadiers and gigantic dragoons. Let the pressure of
war or emergency arise, however, or, in other words, let there be the
real business of life to be done, then the standard is lowered at once,
and the battle is sought and won by very inferior agency. Now, show
troops and show qualities are very much alike; they are a measure of
what would be very charming to arrive at, were it only practicable! Oh
that poor Glencore had only learned this lesson, instead of writing
nonsense verses at Eton!

"The murky domesticities of England have no correlatives in the sunny
enjoyments of Italian life; and John Bull has got a fancy that virtue is
only cultivated where there are coal fires, stuff curtains, and a
window tax. Why, then, in the name of Doctors' Commons, does he marry a
foreigner?"

Just as Upton had written these words, his servant presented him with a
visiting-card.

"Lord Glencore!" exclaimed he, aloud. "When was he here?"

"His Lordship is below stairs now, sir. He said he was sure you'd see
him."

"Of course; show him up at once. Wait a moment; give me that cane, place
those cushions for my feet, draw the curtain, and l