Pitt and Wellington grudge the half hours they gave to their valets. Some shrewd sense is commonly mingled with the detestable worldliness of Chesterfield; and when he advises his son to prepare himself for the day in his dressing-room, he lays down one good rule for a well-regulated life.

room.

Our hero had never felt himself in a more elastic mood than when, the duties of a long toilet over, he descended to the breakfastThe snow-white damask, and enticing appointments of the table and sideboard -the crystal, the enamelled china, and the glittering plate the elegant room, with its tall windows opening to the lawn, and admitting the sweet air of June, loaded with

"The ripe fragrance of the new-mown hay,"

the attention paid to his slightest wishthe indefinable charm which luxury in all its shapes has for those to whom it is a novelty-the reflection, that he had risen to the summit of his wishes at a single bound, contributed to place him in a most enviable state of feeling. He threw himself in an easy-chair, partook leisurely of the viands handed to him, and skimmed over the papers of the morning with an air of lordly indif

ference, and a kind of lordly conception that the editors were dull fellows, to provide nothing better for his amusement than their columns afforded. While he thus agreeably whiled away the time, the house-steward approached him with a small packet on a silver salver, stating with the utmost respect that he was desired to give it him only when he was quite at leisure. His eye ran over the superscription, and he recognised the character of the hand, which he had once before seen in pencil. The packet was addressed

"TO FLORIAN TREMORE, ESQ., &c. &c."

He opened it with a slight tremulousness

of hand he could not disguise.

He found it

to contain a banker's book, a check-book, and some patent keys. A small slip of paper bore these words:

"I have kept my promise. See that you keep yours.-CAVENDISH."

The check-book was blank. The banker's book, marked with his name, contained an entry on the first page, giving him credit for thirty thousand pounds! Happily he was alone. He dropped the book on the table,

and sank into an ecstatic reverie on his good fortune, only disturbed now and then by the heaving of his chest, and by those soft sighs which mark a state of perfect transport.

While in this temper a visiter was announced, and a gentleman closely followed his name, who appeared conversant with the usages of the house, and who seemed to make sure of a frank welcome. The cordiality of his manner instantly reconciled Florian to the intrusion. This gentleman I must shortly introduce to my readers.

The Honourable Frederick Freeborn was one of those intermediate links in the social chain, which connect the extremes of society together. Report said he was not unknown among the lumber-troopers, nor innocent of the taste of porter. He admitted himself that his talent for fun led him into queer positions at times; but then he was a privileged person, and not a whit the less welcome at the table of his Grace of Queensberry, on account of the comical stories he had to tell of his company the previous night at the Finish or at the Shades. To do him justice, he was rather convivial than vicious, and more fond of good company and good liquor than of dissipation. He had universally the character of being one

of the best-natured creatures in the world. He would do any thing for any body; but, as his purse was always low, he would sometimes convert into a loan to himself the money with which he was entrusted to execute commissions for his friends. No one, however, thought any thing of these slight mistakes. Every one knew Freeborn could not help them; and then he was so sincerely sorry if he put you to the slightest inconvenience, and had such a dexterous manner of smiling you out of your chagrin, that, whatever your loss might be, you soon agreed with the rest of the world, that it was folly to be angry with Freeborn. Sometimes a man with a natural turn for scampishness, shows more policy in suffering his real character to be known than in making any attempt to conceal it. Whenever any one of Freeborn's new acquaintance complained that he had been trapped by his friend, people only laughed at his simple indignation, and, considering it a capital joke that Freeborn should do any one, caressed the offender more, and conceived a higher opinion of his cleverness. There is something of this feeling in other states of life. The political party, for instance, which takes up with a notorious

apostate for a leader, gets no more commiseration when duped, than a man does who suffers from choosing a wife out of the Magdalen. Always careless, always laughing, always good-tempered, always ready-as he confessed himself, the rogue (and the confession took the sting out of the offence)-to live on his friends-not very particular what services he performed for them, provided he received a fair equivalent, Freeborn led, on the whole, a very pleasant existence;— shunned by prudent mammas and staid gentlemen with sons at Oxford; but excused, patronised, and courted among the lighter circles of fashion, as a person sure to enhance the zest of every folly in which he took part. The contributions he levied on the purses of his wealthier acquaintance were borne with tolerable cheerfulness, as they generally managed to obtain payment of their loans by the exaction of some return in the way of service or amusement.

His appearance was singular. His figure was bulky, and his face, swollen by indulgence, was so large, that his features, cast in a small mould, were lost in the ample circumference of his bloated cheeks, and the rolls of fat which hung under his chin. Large