situated. Nothing for a week—news lasts longer in the country than it does in town—was talked of but Colonel Clarendon's duel, and his devotion to his friend. I, who was then staying there, heard at least fifty versions of his despair. But I must finish my history, as there is a young poet whose writings I heard you admiring yesterday—the tall slight one—what I rather think you would call interesting-looking."
"Mr. Lillian," observed Mr. Morland, "is one of the most brilliant supporters of paradox I ever met. His conversation only requires to be a little more in earnest to be perfectly delightful. His views are original, his illustrations most happy, and an epigrammatic style sets off his speech—as novel writers say of some dress in which the heroine appears—to 'the best advantage.' But—and, do you know, I think it rather a good feeling in humanity—that is to say, in myself—we like and require truth—always supposing and allowing that the said truth interferes neither with our interests nor our inclinations."
"I agree with you, that an opinion increases in interest, as well as weight, by its supporter appearing to mean what he says. But few
