his host,—he was not the least particular as to principles, always supposing them to be contradictory;—and he went to balls to ask young damsels who had no partners why they did not dance, and to make a third in every tête-à-tête that seemed interesting. In short, he was a modern incarnation of an Egyptian plague, sent as a judgment into society; but then he was single, and single men may marry;—but then he had a hundred thousand pounds and he must die and leave them behind him. Vain hopes! He had too large a stock of tormenting to confine it to any one individual, even though that individual were his wife; and as to his money, when he did die, which he was a long time about, he left one of those wills which realise the classic fable of the golden apple thrown by the goddess of discord—for his heir not only spent the whole property in chancery, but some thousands of his own.
What a pity there is not some mental calomel! for Mr. Lushington's equanimity was in a bilious fever with Edward Lorraine's appearance of luxurious enjoyment. Thrown upon a sofa, like a crimson cloud for colour and softness, with just enough of air from the laurels and acacias of the square garden to fling back
