on Westminster Bridge
dressed in his uniform as sergeant major of the Royal Light Dragoons and
mounted on a white charger. He escorted us to one of the large boxes
under the pent-house reserved for the gentry. And when the show was over
and the place cleared, begged, that I would ride his Indian Chief. I
refused; but March pressed me, and Comyn declared he had staked his
reputation upon my horsemanship. Astley was a large man, about my build,
and I donned a pair of his leather breeches and boots, and put Indian
Chief to his paces around the ring. I found him no more restive, nor as
much so, as Firefly. The gentlemen were good enough to clap me roundly,
and Astley vowed (no doubt because of the noble patrons present) that he
had never seen a better seat.

We all repaired afterwards for supper to Don Saltero's Coffee House and
Museum in Chelsea. And I remembered having heard my grandfather speak of
the place, and tell how he had seen Sir Richard Steele there, listening
to the Don scraping away at the "Merry Christ Church Bells" on his
fiddle. The Don was since dead, but King James's coronation sword and
King Henry VIII.'s coat of mail still hung on the walls.

The remembrance of that fortnight has ever been an appalling one.
Mr. Carvel had never attempted to teach me the value of money. My
grandfather, indeed, held but four things essential to the conduct of
life; namely, to fear God, love the King, pay your debts, and pursue your
enemies. There was no one in London to advise me, Comyn being but a wild
lad like myself. But my Lord Carlisle gave me a friendly warning:

"Have a care, Carvel," said he, kindly, "or you will run your grandfather
through, and all your relations beside. I little realized the danger of
it when I first came up." (He was not above two and twenty then.) "And
now I have a wife, am more crippled than I care to be, thanks to this
devilish high play. Will you dine with Lady Carlisle in St. James's
Place next Friday?"

My heart went out to this young nobleman. Handsome he was, as a picture.
And he knew better than most of your fine gentlemen how to put a check on
his inclinations. As a friend he had few equals, his purse being ever at
the command of those he loved. And his privations on Fox's account were
already greater than many knew.

I had a call, too, from Mr. Dix. I found him in my parlour one morning,
cringing and smiling, and, as usual, half an hour away from his point.

"I warrant you, Mr.