cards. To begin, we will play for as small a sum as you please; just enough to make it interesting."
"Indeed, you must excuse me. Somehow I distrust cards."
"What, distrust cards? Genial cards? Then for once I join with our sad Philomel here:—
"Alas for man, he hath small sense
Of genial trust and confidence.'
Good-bye!"
Sauntering and chatting here and there, again, he with the book at length seems fatigued, looks round for a seat, and spying a partly-vacant settee drawn up against the side, drops down there; soon, like his chance neighbor, who happens to be the good merchant, becoming not a little interested in the scene more immediately before him; a party at whist; two cream-faced, giddy, unpolished youths, the one in a red cravat, the other in a green, opposed to two bland, grave, handsome, self-possessed men of middle age, decorously dressed in a sort of professional black, and apparently doctors of some eminence in the civil law.
By-and-by, after a preliminary scanning of the new comer next him the good merchant, sideways leaning over, whispers behind a crumpled copy of the Ode which he holds: "Sir, I don't like the looks of those two, do you?"
"Hardly," was the whispered reply; "those colored cravats are not in the best taste, at least not to mine; but my taste is no rule for all."
"You mistake; I mean the other two, and I don't
