meet here, in these very walks, ten minutes before six; decoys me with the promise of a dinner at Putney—room looking on the river, and fried flounders. I have the credulity to yield; I derange my habits—I leave my cool studio; I put off my easy blouse; I imprison my free-born throat in a cravat invented by the Thugs; the dog-days are at hand, and I walk rashly over scorching pavements in a black frock-coat, and a brimless hat; I annihilate 3J. 6d. in a pair of kid gloves; I arrive at this haunt of spleen; I run the gauntlet of Frosts, Slowes, and Prymmes; —and my traitor fails me! Half past six—not a sign of him; and the dinner at Putney—fried flounders? Dreams! -Patience, five minutes more; if then he comes not—breach for life be- tween him and me! Ah, voila! there he comes, the laggard! But how those fine folks are catching at him! Has he asked them also to dinner at Putney, and do they care for fried flounders?"
The soliloquist's eye is on a young man, much 3^ounger than himself, who is threading the motley crowd with a light quick step, but is compelled to stop at each moment to interchange a word of welcome, a shake of the hand. Evidently he has al- ready a large acquaintance; evidently he is popular, on good terms with the world and himself. What free grace in his bear- ing, what gay good-humor in his smile! Powers above! Lady Wilhelmina surely blushes as she returns his bow. He has passed Lady Frost unblighted; the Slowes evince emotion, at least the female Slowes, as he shoots by them with that sliding bow. He looks from side to side, with a rapid glance of an eye in which light seems all dance and sparkle; he sees the soliloquist under the meagre tree—the pace quickens, the lips part, half laughing.
"Don't scold, Vance. I am late, I know; but I did not make allowance for interceptions."
"Body o' me, interceptions! For an absentee just arrived in London, you seem to have no lack of friends."
"Friends made in Paris, and found again here at every corner, like pleasant surprises. But no friend so welcome, and dear, as Frank Vance."
" Sensible of the honor, O Lionello the magnificent. Verily you are bon Prince! The Houses of Valois and of Medici were always kind to artists. But whither would you lead me? Back into that tread-mill? Thank you, humbly; no. A crowd in fine clothes is of all mobs the dullest. I can look undismayed on the many-headed monster, wild and rampant; but when the many-headed monster buys its hats in Bond Street, and has an
