fields, but not of the country; for they were the groves of Kensington and Hyde Park.

"Heavens!" exclaimed I-"what, to make his shame more notorious? Why, everybody would point at him."

"The very thing he wishes,” replied Granville; "for do you not see that his consequence in the world depends upon his notoriety?

As to the shame, therefore, it causes but little difficulty; nay, he would glory in it everywhere, but for the correctness of the court, which he is forced to regard. In all other places, his reputation is increased by it; and his very place in the ministry depending upon his character for fashion, this discovery is rather to his advantage than otherwise."

"To me," said I, "this is quite unaccountable."

"Indeed! Pray how long have you been in London?

"Six months."

"And have not discovered that to brazen out a thing which common minds would be ashamed of, is the only way for an uncommon one to succeed in acquiring a great fashionable reputation, or to preserve it if already acquired!

So much for Lord Petronius, whose pardon I must implore, if here, as it were in the same breath, I speak, and place by his side, another character, as opposite to his as light to darkness, as to

principles and manners; and yet not far from resembling him in self-sufficiency or pride.

He was an old college acquaintance of mine, whom I now met with in London, Roger Testwood; a man of much mind, and little fortune, good connections, but of so touchy a nature that he could never turn them to account. They would all have helped him, more or less, in his race in life; but unhappily, to offer help was to affront him. One of them, a distinguished prelate, promised to provide for him, if he would take orders; but, he said he would not be toad-eater to any bishop in England. Another, a judge, proposed the bar; but as he could not hug attornies, he was sure he never should succeed. The army: he was too old to be commanded by boys. A place at court: he was a gentleman, but not a gentleman usher. Parliament: he would not condescend to be a party

man.

He was fond of making tours to gratify his love of scenery, but always by himself; for he never would pay tribute, he said, to the vanity of the rich, by visiting their show-houses. He could therefore accompany no one who had not the same temper; and though an amateur of painting, he often refused himself the pleasure of inspecting a rich cabinet, because it administered, he thought, to a triumph over him to which the owner had no right.

What could such a man do? Too fond of the hum of the world, though he affected to despise it, to shut himself up in a country village, he lived in retreat indeed, but at Kensington, whence he daily visited London; and though cutting (because he declared he was cut by) everybody, he lived a mere, though a keen looker-on; now and then bringing his talents to bear in criticising men and manners, in which he was too sour to be just; or works of literature, in which his taste and judgment were conspicuous.

This gentleman and myself, though not what might be called intimate, had had a very fair university acquaintance. That is, we were not ashamed, if chance brought it about, (for it never was by design), of being seen sometimes arm-inarm with one another. We met sometimes too at wine parties after dinner; nay, and had played at bowls together in the bowling-green at New College, of which he was a member. And yet, far from claiming me as an acquaintance after my elevation, he had never come near me.

It was by the chance of belonging to the same club that we renewed our intercourse, and it was not his fault that we did not continue to stand aloof. For though he had so far consented to inspect society as to belong to the club, it was with little view of mixing in it as an associate. He had the fewest possible acquaintance, and seemed to wish those few less in number; sitting generally in a

corner by himself, with his hat over his eyes, yet, observing every thing, and listening to everybody, but speaking to none.

Thus it was a week before I had exactly made him out, and when I rather reproached him, as he owned he knew me from the first, for not accosting me, he drily said, he wished to see whether a scholar of Queen's and a minister's secretary could continue one and the same person; and only because he found this might be, he consented to renew his acquaintance with me.

This sort of character, from being uncommon, became an object of my study, particularly as it was contrasted with another, also an Oxford companion, of about the same intimacy, and known to him as well as me, but opposite to him in every particular. This was a young man of the name of Sweetland, who certainly deserved his name, for his temper and civility seemed as sleek as his skin, which always shone with a neatness that was spotless. His perpetual readiness to oblige had already done wonders for him, and though not so well connected, and by no means so enlightened as Testwood, he was far better welcomed in society; and while friend Roger was pouting lonely in his corner, Sweetland was rarely seen but in a knot either of politicians or dandies; the first, often men of consequence, who made use of him; the last, men of fashion, who tolerated him.

With all his faults, Testwood had most of my attention. I soon found he was any thing but happy, and having long known the cause, I was sometimes smitten with the hope of curing his error. The curate and barber had as much chance of curing Don Quixotte.

I one day called upon him in his box near Kensington. I was on horseback, and after reconnoitring me from a window, he opened the door himself.

"From your groom's livery," said he, "I thought you had been Lord Rockville, whose triennial visit I have sworn never to receive again. I neither seek, nor does he owe me any civility; but civility once in three years is an insult."

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"I am sorry you think so," said I, nor have I ever heard that Lord Rockville insulted any one."

"Judge for yourself," answered he. "I had once occasion to send to him to ask for a piece of official information, which he is paid for giving; and he began his reply with Lord Rockville informs Mr. Testwood so and so,'-as if Mr. Testwood was not worthy the little civility of note compliments. But this perhaps would not appear to you an insult. You, who are already rubbed smooth by the world, and bask in its sunshine, can know nothing of its coldness or its pride. You, and those you herd with, are too dependant