and consider duelling as a fashionable compound of iniquity, containing equal parts of murder and suicide-and we'll go to Lawless's this evening, that I'm determined upon-and-let me see—I've got James's new novel in my pocket. I shall not disturb you if I stay here, shall I? I'm not going to talk."

Then, without waiting for an answer, he stretched himself at full length on (and beyond) the sofa, and was soon buried in the pages of that best of followers in the footsteps of the mighty Wizard of the North-Walter Scott-leaving me to the somewhat less agreeable task of reading mathematics.

CHAP. XXI.

THE WINE PARTY.

"This night I hold an old-accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love."

"A fair assembly, whither should they come?
Servant.-Up!

Romeo.-Whither?

Servant. To supper."-Shakspeare.

All is not false that seems at first a lie."-Southey.

"Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?

I do bite my thumb, Sir!

Do you quarrel, Sir?

Quarrel, Sir! No, Sir!

If you do, Sir, I am for you."-Shakspeare.

LET the reader imagine a long table covered with the remains of an excellent dessert, interspersed with a multitude of bottles of all shapes and sizes, containing every variety of wine that money could procure, or palate desire; whilst in the centre stood a glorious old China bowl of punch, which the guests were discussing in tumblers,-wine-glasses having been unanimously voted much too slow. Around this table let there be seated from fifteen to twenty men, whose ages might vary from nineteen to three or four and twenty; some smoking cigars, some talking vociferously, some laughing, some, though they were decidedly the minority, listening: but all showing signs of being more or less elated by the wine they had taken. Let the reader imagine all this, and he will have formed a pretty correct idea of the supper party in Lawless's rooms, as it appeared about ten o'clock on the evening subsequent to the conversation I have just detailed.

"Didn't I see you riding a black horse with one white stocking, yesterday, Oaklands?" inquired a young man with a round jovial countenance, which might have been reckoned handsome, but for the extreme redness of the complexion, and the loss of a front tooth, occasioned by a fall received in the hunting field, whose name was Richard, or, as he was more commonly termed Dick, Curtis.

"Yes," replied Oaklands, "I dare say you did; I was trying him." "Ah! I fancied he was not one of your own.”

"No: he belongs to Tom Barret, who wants me to buy him; but I don't think he's strong enough to carry my weight; there's not substance enough about him; I ride nearly eleven stone."

"Oh! he'll never do for you," exclaimed Lawless. "I know the horse well; they call him Blacksmith, because the man who bred him was named Smith; he lives down in Lincolnshire, and breeds lots of horses; but they are none of them, at least none that I have seen, what I call the right sort; don't you buy him,-he's got too much daylight under him to suit you."

"Too long in the pasterns to carry weight," urged Curtis.
"Rather inclined to be cow-hocked," chimed in Lawless.
"Not ribbed home," remarked Curtis.

"Too narrow across the loins," observed Lawless.

"He'll never carry flesh," continued Curtis.

"It's useless to think of his jumping; he'll never make a hunter," said Lawless.

"Only hear them," interrupted a tall, fashionable-looking young man, with a high forehead, and a profusion of light curling hair; "now those two fellows are once off, it's all up with anything like rational conversation for the rest of the evening."

"That's right, Archer, put the curb on 'em; we might as well be in Tattersall's yard at once," observed another of the company, addressing the last speaker.

"I fear it's beyond my power," replied Archer; "they've got such an incurable trick of talking equine scandal, and taking away the characters of their neighbour's horses, that nobody can stop them unless it is Stephen Wilford.”

The mention of this name seemed to have the effect of rendering every one grave, and a pause ensued, during which Oaklands and I exchanged glances. At length the silence was broken by Curtis, who said,—

"By the way, what's become of Wilford? I expected to meet him here to-night."

"He was engaged to dine with Wentworth," said Lawless; "but he promised to look in upon us in the course of the evening; I thought he would have been here before this."

As he spoke, a tap was heard at the room-door.

"Well, that's odd," continued Lawless; "that's Wilford for a ducat; talk of the devil,—eh, don't you know? Come in.”

"You had better not repeat that in his hearing," observed Archer, "though I believe he'd take it as a compliment on the whole; it's my opinion he rather affects the satanic."

"Hush," said Curtis, pressing his arm, "here he is."

As he spoke, the door opened, and the subject of their remarks entered. He was rather above the middle height, of a slight but unusually elegant figure, with remarkably small hands and feet, the former of which were white and smooth as those of a woman. His features were delicately formed and regular, and the shape of his face a perfect oval; strongly marked eyebrows overshadowed a pair of piercing black eyes; his lips were thin and compressed, and his mouth finely cut; his hair, which was unusually glossy and luxuriant, was jet black, as were his whiskers, affording a marked contrast to the death-like pallor of his countenance. The only fault that could be found in the drawing of his face was, that the eyes were placed too near together; but this imparted a character of intensity to his glance, which added to, rather than detracted from, the general effect of his appearance. His features, when in repose, were usually marked by an expression of contemptuous indifference; he seldom laughed, but his smile conveyed an indication of such bitter sarcasm, that I have seen men, whom he chose to make a butt for his ridicule, writhe under it as under the infliction of bodily torture. He was dressed, as was his wont, entirely in black; but his clothes, which were fashionably cut, fitted him without a wrinkle. He bowed slightly to the assembled company, and then seated himself in a chair, which had been reserved for him at the upper end of the table, nearly opposite Oaklands and myself, saying, as he did so,-"I am afraid I'm rather late, Lawless, but Wentworth and I had a little business to transact, and I could not get away sooner.

"What devil's deed have they been at now, I wonder?" whispered Oaklands to me.

"Manslaughter, most likely," replied Archer (who was seated next me, and had overheard the remark), "Wilford appears so thoroughly satisfied with himself; that was just the way in which he looked the morning he winged Sherringham, for I saw him myself."

"Send me down the claret, will you, Curtis?" asked Wilford. "Punch is a beverage I don't patronize; it makes a man's hand shaky."

"If that is the case," returned Archer, "you ought to make a

point of drinking it for the good of society, my dear Wilford; let me help you to a glass."

"Nonsense, Archer, be quiet, man; here, taste this cool bottle, Wilford; claret's good for nothing if it's at all flat," exclaimed Lawless, drawing the cork of a fresh magnum as he spoke.

"I differ from you in that opinion, Archer," returned Wilford, fixing his keen black eyes upon the person he addressed with a piercing glance; "society is like the wine in this glass," and he filled a bumper to the brim with claret as he spoke: "it requires a steady hand to keep it within its proper bounds, and to compel it to preserve an unruffled surface;" and so saying he raised the glass to his lips without spilling a drop, still keeping his eyes fixed upon Archer's face with the same withering glance.

"Well, I have often heard of looking daggers at a person," continued Archer, who had been drinking somewhat deeply during the evening, and now appeared possessed by a spirit of mischief leading him to teaze and annoy Wilford in every way he could think of; "but Wilford does worse, he positively looks pistolscocked and loaded pistols-at one. Fairlegh, I shall screen myself behind your broad shoulders; I never could stand fire." So saying, he seized me by the elbows, and, urging me forward crouched down behind me, affecting the extremity of terror.

The scowl on Wilford's brow deepened as he spoke, but, after a moment's hesitation, apparently considering the affair too absurd to take notice of, he turned away with a contemptuous smile, saying, "You make your punch too strong, Lawless."

Archer instantly recovered his erect attitude, and with a flushed face seemed about to make some angry reply, when Lawless, who appeared nervously anxious that the evening should pass over harmoniously, interposed.

"Archer, you're absolutely incorrigible; keep him in order, Fairlegh, eh? give him some more punch, and fill your own glassit has been empty I don't know how long. I'll find a toast that will make you drink-bumpers round, gentlemen, 'to the health of the prettiest girl in Hertfordshire.' Are you all charged? I beg to propose

"Excuse my interrupting you, Lawless," exclaimed I-for I felt certain who it was he was thinking of; and the idea of Miss Saville's name being mentioned and discussed with the tone of license common on such occasions, appeared to me such complete profanation, that I determined, be the consequences what they