myself, and with truth, very glad of the opportunity presented to me of shaking him by the hand. I told Burridge that his partial kindness to me, and the advantage I had gained over Sinclair on my entrance at school, had, I felt, depressed him below his just level; and that I had frequently wished, and had made several overtures to him, that we should come to a better understanding. (To say the truth, had it been my own case, I could not have endured the superior importance and influence of a junior, even though he were willing to bear his faculties meekly, as, in justice to myself, I must say, I endeavoured to do.) I concluded by begging him to bring Mr. Sinclair with him that very evening, when he should witness how entirely I had banished all animosity from my mind.

He did so. Sinclair was indeed greatly improved. I have seldom seen a man more eminently handsome, or one more calculated to ingratiate himself with his own sex, or to recommend himself to the favour of the women. His manners were polite and prepossessing-his carriage was graceful, and his conversation modest and agreeable. I am recording my impression at the time.

We spent a merry evening. The bottle, that "trotting whipster," circulated nimbly; Burridge became limber and frolicksome; Sinclair narrative and facetious, babbling of college pleasantries, unborrowed of the town; whilst I did my best to establish an opinion of my own consequence, and to make it appear that my merit entitled me to, at least, as large a share of it as I had acquired.

Thenceforth, Sinclair and myself were to be seen together at all places of public resort. The splendour of his appearance, with which my restricted means in no degree permitted me to vie, reflected itself upon me; and the world was pleased to declare that, in the selection of my friends, I not only evinced an excellent taste, but also a politic foresight. I laughed in my sleeve at this; for the world was not accustomed to the sight of Merchant, whose society I vastly preferred, and with whom I consorted, when the world, for the most part, was asleep.

Of all my friends, Langley was the one to whom Sinclair

chiefly attached himself. I do not wonder at it; nor that Langley should have met his advances half way. There was a great similarity between the two gentlemen. They were both rich, or with the prospect of being so; and both indulged a strong persuasion that wealth, of itself, conferred a claim to respect, which set off by birth was not, for an instant, to be questioned. Abilities-genius-these, in their opinion, entitled the possessor of them to no station equal with their own. He belonged to the rank in which he was born; he might, indeed, be received into a higher -upon sufferance. Merit did not earn the position; it was the reward of merit.

That this was the joint creed of Langley and Sinclair was sufficiently obvious, although it was not intruded in a manner offensive to me. It was more especially apparent in their reception of Merchant, which was of so exceedingly civil a description as implied the condescension of very great men to a very little one; but it was most observable when Gregory was present, who did not know how to treat a companion otherwise than as an equal, except when, as in Merchant's case, the extent of his information, his knowledge of life and of human nature, his abilities, and, above all, his misfortunes, commanded his deference, and secured his respect.

"I do not know how it is," said Gregory to me one day, "but I cannot altogether reconcile myself to our old schoolfellow. Burridge may talk of his pippin of August, but, hang him, I think it has a tang of the May sourness about it yet. What is your opinion of him ?"

"That he is as young as you," I replied, "and has not that class of follies which find favour with yourself. To me he is very friendly and pleasant, and would be so to you, only that you oppose yourself too palpably to his prevailing foible."

"And why not?" cried Gregory; "confound his 'scutcheon and money-bag! Why is precedence to be granted to them on all occasions? What say you?" turning to Merchant.

"I say," returned Merchant, "as to his 'scutcheon, I

know nothing of it, nor of my own; nor do I wish to know. I saw several heralds at the coronation, and a whimsical class of animals they appeared. They tell you, don't they, that your grandfather's grandfather had a grandfather, whose father's name was Roger, or Hugh ?— it is commonly Hugh. Well, Hugh being a troublesome fellow, who can give no account of himself, they kill him at the battle of Hastings. He came in with the Conqueror, and had six feet of land allotted to him. But as to the money-bag-if that is a grievance, it is one that will lessen day by day. To tell you the truth, my finger has been in it, and I never speak ill of my friends. I allow myself no pleasures now-a-days. I cannot afford to be of the fashion. I hope, Gregory, you are not jealous of this handsome schoolfellow ?"

"if

"Not I," he replied, laughing, but colouring, too; a straight leg and a handsome face were always to carry the day, what would become

"Of us," interrupted Merchant; "true. I have hopes that my pernicious phiz may one day be of value to me. I attend all the China sales I hear of, and have seen earthenware monsters, not half so ugly as myself, excite the admiration of the ladies-and fetch high prices too."

Gregory had no cause of jealousy; but had he known his intended father-in-law so well as myself, he might have felt that he had just grounds of suspicion and alarm. Sinclair was a very frequent visitor at Myte's house, and a very welcome one. The little man, to employ a common phrase, did not know how to make too much of him, except when Gregory appeared, and then he did not know how to make enough of himself.

Myte was a singular mixture, or rather, alternation of simplicity and finesse. He could not forbear imparting to me his secret longings. Drawing me aside one morning, he said, "My son Langley tells me that Sinclair-what shall I call him? that must be thought of―he tells me he is as rich as Croesus or Crassus-either will do, and that he comes of an ancient stock. I wish I had known him earlier." "Why?" said I, shortly.

"Why?-because there's my Vandal; and he's a string to her bow I should like to try first. If he snapped, we could pull out mad Tom. I don't think Tom's very deep in-do you?"

"I am surprised to hear you talk thus," I replied, "after the encouragement you have given to Mr. Gregory's addresses."

"Encouragement! Ricardo, I have stood by with my finger in my mouth, saying nothing. A mouse in a minster never preached a better sermon of silence than I have done. So far all is well."

"But the young lady-your daughter," I urged—“ pray, think, sir, of her happiness."

"That is what I am thinking about," he returned; "the little ball on my shoulders has nothing else to do in this world but think about it. Sinclair-Gregory-into the scale with 'em. Sinclair outweighs Gregory; see, he kicks the beam. The higher the rank, the greater the happiness."

"I am glad experience has, long ago, refuted that,” I replied. "But you may as well, sir, relinquish at once all hopes of Mr. Sinclair. Your daughter loves Mr. Gregory."

"Loves Mr. Gregory!" exclaimed Myte, with a chuckle -“ not so well as she loves rank and riches, I warrant; or my wise preachings, from her infancy upwards, have been utterly thrown away. Have you not seen, Ricardo, at the play-house, an old, square-toed fellow, with a flying periwig, and a cursed choleric, red-ochred face, rush in upon a scene of lovers, and interpose his veto upon the projected nuptials? I think I shall undertake the part of that old fellow."

"And be baffled at last, as the old fellow commonly is," said I, laughing. "No, no-you will let things take their course. Besides, you have no reason to believe that Sinclair prefers your daughter?"

"None-I have none," he answered, shaking his head. "I might frighten away the linnet, and not catch the goldfinch after all. Fool's fowling, that."

From this day forward, if Myte put any schemes into operation, of securing Sinclair for a son-in-law, they were

not openly practised. It is true, for some time I observed that Sinclair paid very particular attentions to the young lady, provoking enough to Gregory, although they were not of such a nature, or so constant, as to justify him in making them the subject of a quarrel; but after some months these were entirely laid aside. I concluded that the absence of encouragement, on the part of Mistress Martha, had caused Sinclair to forego his design of supplanting his friend. Let me be just to him. I do not know that he harboured any such design. So it was, that his attentions ceased. Afterwards, I ventured a shrewd guess as to the cause.

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN WHICH RICHARD SAVAGE IS DISCOVERED TO BE IN LOVE;
AND EXHIBITS TENDENCIES TOWARDS A PASSION VERY

FREQUENTLY GRAFTED UPON IT.-WITH AN UNTOWARD
OCCURRENCE, WHICH HAS NO SMALL INFLUENCE ON HIS
FUTURE FORTUNE AND HAPPINESS.

I RECEIVED a message one day from Sir Richard Steele, desiring to see me on the following morning. Any requisition from that quarter was certain of obedience from me. I waited upon him at the appointed time. He hastened into the hall when I was announced.

"I am particularly engaged at this moment," said he, taking me by the arm; "a relentless rogue has, by mistake, been shown into me, and wants certain monies. I am reasoning him out of the extravagance of his demands, and have brought his phiz up some yard or two during these last ten minutes. A quarter of an hour, and I'll make him laugh and leave. Stop! go in there-no, come along." So saying, he hurried into a back room.

66

My love," he cried, to a young lady, who had arisen from her chair, "pray do your best to entertain this gentleman, my friend, Mr. Savage, till I return to you, which shall be in a few minutes. Savage-Miss Elizabeth Wil