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imagination ; and if the scene had not been broken by his arrival at Mr Hargrave’s, he would inevitably have meditated himself into perpetual bachelorship. As acquaintance had now ascended to friendship, ho sat down, without tcazing his host by impolite ceremony ; and indeed no one could accuse him of too great attention to forms and regulations, for, absorbed in thought, ho placed the kettle upon the table, and the tea-pot on the fire : poured the milk upon his roll, spread the butter upon the cloth, and mixed the sugar with the salt.—Maria’s heart danced with gladness : “I do really believe,” said she, “the rogue has forgotten my red—odious word, remain for ever unutterable!”
She was mistaken ; the next day Conway circumambulated the metropolis for a recipe to remove stains. “Are they in your cravats?” “No.”— “In your boot-toops?” “No.”—In your reputation?” “No.”—“In the name of Satan, where then?” “Satan be praised, in Maria’s nose.”—It would have convulsed the sides of Crassus, who laughed but once in his life; or those of Heraclitus, who lived without laughing.
“The man is not born for happiness,” said Conway, condemning his own irresolution: “nothing more pointedly displays than this—that he suffers every trifle to obstruct it.—Gracious powers! when the cup is replete with blessings, how do we stand? —Idiots like, gazing at the delicious draught untasted! and why? truly a red nose floats upon the surface.—Blockhead that thou art! what if it were huge as Hecla?”
From what useless struggles would it exempt us, could we withdraw the curtain of fate, and ascertain, at once, the journey wo aro to travel! In contempt of himself, Conway loved ; not but the fall of stocks, tho risc of winds, the mortality of a favourite lapdog, or the tedious vitality of a rich aunt, gave a
