of Parliament; the patronesses of Almack's will be dismissed, and their places filled up by tradesmen's wives, so that, instead of waltzing with guardsmen, you will be obliged to content yourself with apprentices, if, indeed, you are so fortunate as to get a subscription. So I advise you to make interest betimes in the proper quarters."

"I am sure, then, I hope the odious bill will be thrown out," said the lady, who, however, knowing my character, was not quite sure that I was not quizzing her.

This reminds me of a conversation which at this period I overheard in the street between two "unwashed artificers," at the door of a house, where a petition in favour of the ministerial measure solicited their signatures.

"I say, Bill, cans't thee write?"

66

Ah, to be sure I can," answered Bill.

"Well, come in and write thy name to this here purtition for reform," rejoined his companion.

"Reform! what the h-ll's that?"

"Why doesn't thee know? Reform is that we should be all lords and squires; shouldn't thee like to have thy mississ a lady, and to ride in a carriage, with nothing to do but eat and drink like a new one?"

"My eyes! if that's the meaning on't," said Bill, “I'll sign it fast enough,-if I don't, I'm blowed!"

Accordingly, in they turned, and scrawled their names on the dirty parchment, which was subsequently presented, with previous notice, as the great London petition, signed by a hundred thousand inhabitants.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DURING the first few days after my return to town, my time and thoughts were so wholly engrossed by politics, that I literally had not leisure to bestow a thought upon my private grievances. I rejoiced at this, for it afforded me hope that by suffering my attention to be interested by other matters, I might eventually recover myself, and think and look upon Miss Paulet with comparative indifference. But this I soon found to be a delusion; the arrival of the Paulets in town quickly recalled those feelings and contemplations which had only been temporarily suspended by absence, and the novel excitement of my political avocations. With these, however, I studiously professed to be wholly occupied. I must not omit to mention, that the reception I met with from these intimate friends, was not exactly such as I could have expected. I cannot say, indeed, that there was any marked alteration in Paulet's manner, though it seemed scarcely so cordial as usual. In that of Lady Jane, however, there was something so cold and repulsive, that it was impossible to avoid taking notice of it: neither did Alice meet me with all the frankness and kindness to which I was accustomed, and which was due to one who might at least claim to be considered as a friend; but her manner was far less discouraging than that of Lady Jane. She did not look well, and seemed to be out of spirits, but upon my making the remark to Lady Jane, she answered abruptly that her sister was perfectly well, and in excellent spirits. "What should ail her, and why should she be out of spirits?" This tone precluded any farther pursuit of the subject, and, indeed, as it ran through her whole conversation, rendered my pretty friend, whose great charm was her liveliness and good humour, so disagreeable, that I curtailed my visit.

I was rather puzzled to account for this change, for, if there was any offence on either side, surely it was I who had cause to find it in their conduct, and not they in mine; but, perhaps, knowing this, they acted upon the principle of the man who, when he was in the wrong, and expected a scolding,

thought it best to be beforehand, by flying into a passion himself; unless, indeed, they were angry with me for having declined to afford Miss Paulet that triumph upon which she had, in all likelihood, certainly calculated. If so, there was abundant satisfaction to be derived from their cold looks and short sentences.

I wish I could have felt, upon the occasion, only that degree of concern which is caused by finding those whom one had been taught to regard as friends in the country, sink into mere cold acquaintances in town. I wish I could have experienced a pure sentiment of gratification at outwitting those who attempted to overreach me; but truth obliges me to acknowledge, that though I endeavoured to entertain these emotions, I did not succeed, for I found that they could not take place in a mind affected like mine. The influence of pride the only counteraction to the despotism of the other passion-was daily becoming weaker, and I felt myself beginning to regard the deceitful and heartless behaviour of Alice more in sorrow than in anger. Fain would I have attempted to shake the conviction relative to this point with which I had been impressed, but really it was impossible, after the conclusive testimony afforded by the scene in the shrubbery, Her pale cheek and depressed spirits were not for me, but for him who was absent.

To get rid of these reflections I walked down to the House. It was crowded, for the debate was upon the great question. A distinguished advocate for the measure, whose speech had been expected, was upon his legs. From the yelling and shouting which continually burst forth in fits of several seconds' duration, a stranger would imagine he was approaching a den of lunatics, instead of the chamber of the "Collective Wisdom." It was impossible to resist the contagion of the scene, and, forgetting Alice Paulet, I took my seat upon the floor, and added my voice to the cheers, which proceeded from the champions of the constitution.

CHAPTER XXVII.

I SOON found that I was still a favoured object by that fickle divinity, Fashion, who is more capricious than Nature herself, although I had never courted her smiles, and was now more indifferent to them than ever. In fact, in my connection with this goddess, I have reversed the usual practice, for I exacted homage from, instead of rendering it to her, and treated her occasionally as Mr. Pitt did George the Third, with insolence and contempt, presuming upon a sense of my own importance.

From no motive of vanity, however, but solely from inclination, I now confined myself to the society of that coterie, known in the first volume of my memoirs, by the designation of Mrs. Majendie's set," to attendance upon my parliamentary duties, and to political dinners. The circle of public men with whom I constantly associated, was much narrower than that in which I had moved on the preceding year. Sometimes, indeed, I yielded to the entreaties of that excellent fellow Lutwyche, and joined his parties, although he was quite out of my present set. The company of wits was, however, sadly diminished since last year. Singleton, its master spirit, was upon his death-bed, and Lord Robert Lindsay, another shining light, had been removed from this to another world: that is to say, he had been appointed to a colonial government. Political differences had rendered it unpleasant for others of the fraternity to meet at the same board; consequently Dick's suppers were deplorably fallen off. Still this choice spirit was not discouraged, but gallantly kept together the remnant of his band of good fellows, which even now, bereft as they were of their former splendour, were not less than "th' excess of glory obscured."

These devotees of Momus and Bacchus complained, in very complimentary terms, of my defection, to which they kindly attached more importance than I could believe it deserved; for to say the truth, I did not excel in that light ethereal wit which was in request among them. There never was such

a set of laughing philosophers as these men. Midas-like, everything they handled was turned into wit, and the comparison holds on, for the mind was in danger of starvation amid this profusion of wealth; it was all glitter. Though they were for the most part kind hearts, a person who did not know them, from hearing their conversation sometimes, would suppose that they were the most unfeeling creatures breathing. Nothing, however sad or serious, was exempted from their pleasantry. Even the death of Singleton himself, was turned into a subject of jesting, although there was not one of them I am confident, who did not sincerely lament the loss of their old and gifted friend. I myself, whose acquaintance with him was of recent date, and who, as the reader has seen, thought him little better than an accomplished knave, could not help feeling much affected when I heard that such a brilliant light had been snuffed out.

A few days after this event, I was present at a meeting of the Inimitable Livers (for so they called themselves, after a society of the same description, established by Antony and Cleopatra, and celebrated in Plutarch), and the loss which they had sustained was naturally the first topic of conversation.

"Well, poor Singleton is gone at last," said one.

"But his spirit remains with us," observed Lord Wallingford.

"You mean the brandy, I suppose, Wallingford,” answered Lutwyche, pointing to a bottle of that liquor, which stood by the great epicure, who, like the deceased, was obliged to use it at meals, to assist his impaired digestion; "that, I fear, is the only spirit that he has left behind him—at least with you."

"Club us all together," said Sir Nathaniel Callaghan, "and we should not be equal to Singleton."

"No," replied another, “we should still be too heavy." "You are a devilish good-natured fellow, Nat, to lament Singleton, for he always abused you. He used to call you his hone, upon which he sharpened his wit."

"I'm like the ancient fellow, what's his name?" replied the good-humoured baronet, "who said he'd rather be wrong with Plato, than right with any other man; so I'd prefer being abused by Singleton, to being praised by anybody else."

"He used to say of you, I know not a duller nor a betterhearted fellow.""