luxurious enjoyment which he had adopted. He had despised and derided the moral feeling, and had studiously guarded himself against all reproofs which conscience might administer to him. But with all this care he experienced feelings far more oppressive than those against which he guarded.

Now the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill was also a man of no mental exertion, but he was a man of no mental power; he also was sensual, but his was not a deliberate and studied sensuality, it was purely animal and instinctive. He was an Epicurean, but not an Epicurean philosopher. At Cambridge he had been acquainted with this Mr Erpingham, and he had admired the dextrous sophistry by which this gentleman had proved the worse to be the better cause. Mr Erpingham had also been proud of the acquaintance with nobility, though Lord Spoonbill was a younger man than he. And they had become the confidents and companions of each others profligacies.

In a difficulty therefore of that kind to which we have above alluded, it is not to be wondered at that his lordship should enter into consultation, or at least into conversation, concerning the subject with his good friend Erpingham.

We would not, however, have our readers imagine that Lord Spoonbill was quite such a ninny as to make it the subject of deliberate consultation and express enquiry, to learn what he ought to do on the present occasion; he merely meant to make a call upon his friend, and he was prompted to make that call by the circumstances in which he was then placed with regard to Penelope Primrose. His object was to talk the matter over, and he certainly could not have selected a properer person to take part in such conversation.

The two friends had not met for some time; the interview was agreeable therefore to both parties; for they had a great mutual respect for each other: Lord Spoonbill admired Mr Erpingham’s talents, and Mr Erpingham had a high respect for Lord Spoonbill’s title and high connexions.

CHAPTER II.

Lord Spoonbill was ushered into an apartment, the air of which was warm and fragrant: the warmth came from Newcastle, and the fragrancy from Bond street. At first entering the room his lordship saw not any one to whom his name could have been announced. The servant who had opened the door for him closed it immediately behind him, and he seemed to be in an empty apartment. By an instinct natural to an Englishman he advanced towards the fire-place, and there he presently saw on a sofa, the back of which was towards the door, his friend Erpingham reclining at full length, and having before him an open volume placed on a low table, which had been constructed and adapted for reading on a sofa. This was what Erpingham called “reading made easy.”

His lordship expressed by his looks some surprise that his friend should not rise from the sofa, and said, “Erpingham! are you unwell?”

“Ah! Spoonbill, is it you? Excuse my not rising to receive you; but the fact is, I have been trying for the last hour and a half to get into an easy position, and I have but just accomplished it, and if I move now I shall not be able to recover the position, and you know how wretched that sensation is. Well, how are the old materials?”

This last question referred to the health of the Earl and Countess of Smatterton; and it was a phrase which Erpingham had learned from Lord Spoonbill himself.

To this question Lord Spoonbill made the regular response, and continued, “How is it, Erpingham, that I never have the pleasure of seeing you unless I ride over to you?”

“Can’t say,” was the careless reply: “but,” continued the Epicurean, “I am not partial to mixed company. Now your house in town is too multitudinous for me.—But my Clarissa tells me that the Countess of Smatterton is going to astonish the whole world by introducing a new first-rate voice.”

For explanation, it may be enough to inform the reader that Clarissa held the same place in Mr Erpingham’s establishment as Lord Spoonbill wished Penelope to hold in his. His lordship therefore was not sorry that the subject should be thus introduced, and he replied:

“Exactly so. But we have our doubts whether the lady will, under present circumstances, assent to the arrangement: for when she came to London, it was as an orphan, but now her father has returned from India after a long, and, I suppose, a profitable absence. Mr Primrose, the father, is now on his way from Smatterton, and he has said in his letter to his daughter, that he is about to place her in a home of his own. So I fear we shall lose this star.”

Mr Erpingham did not lay anything very much to heart, and therefore he did not express any serious lamentation on this probable loss. He directed his remarks to other matters; and among other questions which he asked of Lord Spoonbill, alluding to the circumstances and events of his lordship’s life, he enquired: “And have you got rid of your dear little Ellen at last? You had a great deal of trouble with her, I think you told me some time ago.”

Lord Spoonbill was quite as profligate as his elegant friend, but he had not so successfully and completely neutralized all his feelings. Though his profligacy therefore was coarser than that of Erpingham, and though his lordship was not over gifted with sensibility, yet he was not so entirely and systematically heartless. To this question concerning poor Ellen he shook his head, and said:

“Why, yes; I was sorry for the poor thing too: she was very much in love with me at one time, I really believe.”

“Ay,” replied Erpingham, “that was bad. It is quite annoying to have a woman in love with one. I could not endure it. I make it a rule never to encourage anything of the kind. You were too much addicted to sentimentality when you were at Cambridge. I suspect now that you are more than half in love with this Miss Primrose. Is she pretty and silly?”

Lord Spoonbill frowned at the question, and did not answer it.

“Oh, well,” replied his friend, “I have no wish to be in your confidence. Pray don’t tell me any more of your secrets than you wish me to know. And if you are going to talk as much nonsense to me about Miss Primrose as you did two years ago about your ‘dear little Ellen,’ I must beg to be excused. Positively, Spoonbill, I have grown quite nervous of late.”

“I think,” replied his lordship, “you have grown quite provoking. I have no intention of boring your ears with any sentimentality, as you are pleased to call it.”

This being uttered in a petulant tone, and Erpingham not liking to take the trouble of replying in the same tone, contented himself with indolently saying:

“Well, well, don’t be angry. Say what you please. I will bear it very patiently.”

Lord Spoonbill having but little time to spare, and being very desirous of unburthening his mind to his friend, suffered this kind of careless half-apology to extract from him the secret of his attachment to Penelope. Erpingham listened as attentively as he could to the story, and when it was finished he yawned out, “Ah! sure! But what assistance can I give you?”

It was not very easy to answer that question. His lordship was more disposed indeed to ask questions than answer them, and therefore, instead of replying to the question of his friend, he said: “Now what would you advise me