tied his bottle, and we staggered home in great concord. In point of fact, men of sense think not of such things, and mingle freely in society as if they never occurred. Why then should I be supposed to have any feeling whatever, whether of anger or pleasure about them?

My friends? Where are they? Ay, Jemmy, I do understand what that pressure of my hand means. But where is the other? Nowhere! Acquaintances I have in hundreds boon companions in dozens-fellows to whom I make myself as agreeable as I can, and whose society gives me pleasure. There's Jack Meggot-the best joker in the world-Will Thomson -an unexceptionable ten-bottle-man -John Mortimer, a singer of most renowned social qualities-there's but what need Lenlarge the catalogue? You know the men I mean. I live with them, and that right gaily, but would one of them crack a joke the less, drink a glass the less, sing a song the less, if I died before morning? Not one-nor do I blame them, for, if they were ingulfed in Tartarus, Í should just go through my usual daily round-keep moving in the same monotonous tread-mill of life, with other companions to help me through, as steadily as I do now. The friends of my boyhood are gone-ay-allall gone!-I have lost the old familiar faces, and shall not try for others to replace them. I am now happy with a mail-coach companion, whom I never saw before, and never will see again. My cronies come like shadows, so depart. Do you remember the story of Abon Hassen, in some of the Oriental tales? He was squandering a fine property on some hollow friends, when he was advised to try their friendship by pretending poverty, and asking their assistance. It was refused, and he determined never to see them more-never to make a friend-nay, not even an acquaint ance; but to sit, according to the custom of the East, by the way-side, and invite to his board the three first passers-by, with whom he spent the night in festive debauchery, making it a rule never to ask the same persons a second time. My life is almost the same-true it is that I know the exterior conformation, and the peculiar habits of those with whom I associate, but our hearts are ignorant

of one another. They vibrate not together; they are ready to enter into the same communication, with any passer-by. Nay, perhaps, Hassan's plan was more social. He was relie ved from inquiries as to the charac ter of his table-mates. Be they fair, be they foul, they were nothing to him. I am tormented out of my life by such punctilios as I daily must submit to. I wonder you keep com→ pany says a friend-friend! well, no matter-with R. He is a scoundrel→→ he is suspected of having cheated fifteen years ago at play, he drinks ale, he fought shy in a duel business, he is a Whig-a Radical, a Muggletonian, a jumper, a moderate man, a Jacobin; he asked twice for soup, he wrote a libel, his father was a low attorney, nobody knows him in good society, &c. &c. &c. Why, what is it to me? I care not whether he broke every commandment in the decalogue, provided he be a pleasant fellow, and that I am not mixed up with his offences. But the world will so mix me up in spite of myself. Burns used to say, the best company he was ever in was the company of professed blackguards. Perhaps he was right. I dare not try.

My early companions I did care for, and where are they? Poor Tom Benson, he was my class-fellow at school; we occupied the same rooms in college, we shared our studies, our amusements, our flirtations, our follies, our dissipations together. A more honourable or upright creature never existed. Well, sir, he had an uncle, lieutenant-colonel of a cavalry regiment, and at his request Tom bought a cornetcy in the corps. I remember the grand-looking fellow strutting about in the full splendour of his yet unspotted regimentals, the cynosure of the bright eyes of the country town in which he resided. He came to London, and then joined his regiment. All was well for a while; but he had always an unfortunate itch for play. In our little circle it did him no great harm; but his new companions played high, and far too skilfully for Tomperhaps there was roguery, or perhaps there was not-I never inquired. At all events, he lost all his ready-money. He then drew liberally on his family; he lost that too; in short, poor Tom at last staked his commission, and lost it with the rest. This, of course, could

not be concealed from the uncle, who gave him a severe lecture, but procured him a commission in an infantry regiment destined for Spain. He was to join it without delay; but the infatuated fellow again risked himself, and lost the infantry commission also. He now was ashamed or afraid to face his uncle, and enlisted (for he was a splendid looking young man, who was instantly accepted,) as a private soldier in the twenty-sixth foot. I suppose that he found his habits were too refined and too firmly fixed to allow him to be satisfied with the scanty pay, and coarse food, and low company, of an infantry soldier. It is certain, that he deserted in a fortnight after enlistment. The measure of poor Tom's degradation was not yet filled up. He had not a farthing when he left the twenty-sixth. He went to his uncle's at an hour when he knew that he would not be at home, and was with difficulty admitted by the servant, who recognized him. He persuaded him at last that he meant to throw himself on the mercy of his uncle, and the man, who loved him, everybody of all degrees who knew him loved him,-consented to his admission. I am almost ashamed to go on. He broke open his uncle's escritoire, and took from it whatever money it contained-a hundred pounds or thereabouts-and slunk out of the house. Heavens! what were my feelings when I heard this-when I saw him proclaimed in the newspapers as a deserter, and a thief! A thief! Tom Benson a thief! I could not credit the intelligence of my eyes or my ears. He whom I knew only five months before-for so brief had his career been-would have turned with scorn and disgust from any action deviating a hair's-breadth from the highest honour. How he spent the next six months of his life, I know not; but about the end of that period a letter was left at my door by a messenger, who immediately disappeared. It was from him. It was couched in terms of the most abject self-condemnation, and the bitterest remorse. He declared he was a ruined man in character, in fortune, in happiness, in everything, and conjured me, for the sake of former friendship, to let him have five guineas, which he said would take him to a place of safety. From the description of the messenger, who, Tom told me in his note, would return in an hour,

I guessed it was himself. When the time came, which he had put off to a moment of almost complete darkness. I opened the door to his fearful rap. It was he-I knew him at a glance, as the lamp flashed over his face-and, uncertain as was the light, it was bright enough to let me see that he was squalid, and in rags; that a fearful and ferocious suspicion, which spoke volumes, as to the life he had lately led, lurked in his side-looking eyes; those eyes that a year before spoke nothing but joy and courage, and that a premature grayness had covered with pie-bald patches the once glossy black locks which straggled over his unwashed face, or through his tattered hat.

I had that he asked,-perhaps more in a paper in my hand. I put it into his. I had barely time to say "O Tom!" when he caught my hand, kissed it with burning lips, exclaimed "Don't speak to me-I am a wretch !" and, bursting from the grasp with which I wished to detain him, fled with the speed of an arrow down the street, and vanished into a lane. Pursuit was hopeless. Many years elapsed, and I heard not of him-no one heard of him. But about two years ago I was at a coffee-house in the Strand, when an officer of what they called the Patriots of South America, staggered into the room. He was very drunk. His tawdry and tarnished uniform proclaimed the service to which he belonged, and all doubt on the subject was removed by his conversation. It was nothing but a tissue of curses on Bolivar and his associates, who, he asserted, had seduced him from his country, ruined his prospects, robbed him, cheated him, and insulted him. How true these reproaches might have been I knew not, nor do I care, but a thought struck me that Tom might have been of this ar my, and I inquired, as, indeed, I did of everybody coming from a foreign country, if he knew anything of a man of the name of Benson." Do you?"stammered out the drunken patriot"I do," was my reply." Do you care about him?" again asked the officer. "I did—I do,” again I retorted. "Why then," said he "take a short stick in your hand, and step across to Valparaiso, there you will find him two feet under ground, snugly wrapt up in a blanket. I was his sexton myself,

and had not time to dig him a deeper grave, and no way of getting a stouter coffin. It will just do all as well. Poor fellow, it was all the clothes he had for many a day before." I was shocked at the recital, but Holmes was too much intoxicated to pursue the subject any farther. I called on him in the morning, and learned that Benson had joined as a private soldier in this desperate service, under the name of Maberly-that he speedily rose to a command-was distinguished for doing desperate actions, in which he seemed quite reckless of life-had, however, been treated with considerable ingratitude-never was paid a dollar-had lost his baggage-was compelled to part with almost all his wearing apparel for subsistence, and had just made his way to the sea-side, purposing to escape to Jamaica, when he sunk, overcome by hunger and fatigue. He kept the secret of his name till the last moment, when he confided it, and a part of his unhappy history, to Holmes. Such was the end of Benson, a man born to high expectations, of cultivated mind, considerable genius, generous heart, and honourable pur

poses.

Jack Dallas I became acquainted with at Brazen Nose. There was a time that I thought I would have died for him-and, I believe, that his feel ings towards me were equally warm. Ten years ago we were the Damon and Pythias the Pylades and Orestes of our day. Yet I lost him by a jest. He was wooing most desperately a very pretty girl, equal to him in rank, but rather meagte in the purse. He kept it, however, a profound secret from his friends. By accident I found it out, and when I next saw him, I began to quiz him. He was surprised at the discovery, and very sore at the quizzing. He answered so testily, that I proceeded to annoy him. He became more and more sour, I more and more vexatious in my jokes. It was quite wrong on my part; but God knows I meant nothing by it. I did not know that he had just parted with his father, who had refused all consent to the match, adding injurious insinuations about the mercenary motives of the young lady. Dallas had been defending her, but in vain; and then, while in this mood, did I choose him as the butt of my silly witticisms. At last something I said-some mere piece of nonsense-nettled him so much, that VOL. XIV.

he made a blow at me. I arrested his arm, and cried, " Jack, you would have been very sorry had you put your intentions into effect." He coloured as if ashamed of his violence, but remained sullen and silent for a moment, and then left the room. We never have spoke since. He shortly after went abroad, and we were thus kept from meeting and explaining. On his return, we joined different coteries, and were of different sides in politics. In fact, I did not see him for nearly seven years until last Monday, when he passed me, with his wife -a different person from his early passion, the girl on account of whom we quarrelled-leaning on his arm. I looked at him, but he bent down his eyes, pretending to speak to Mrs Dallas. So be it.

Then there was my brother-my own poor brother, one year younger than myself. The verdict-commonly a matter of course-must have been true in his case. What an inward revolution that must have been, which could have bent that gay and free spirit, that joyous and buoyant soul, to think of self-destruction. But I cannot speak of poor Arthur. These were my chief friends, and I lost the last of them about ten years ago; and since that time I know no one, the present company excepted, for whom I care a farthing. Perhaps, if they had lived with me as long as my other companions, I would have been as careless about them, as I am about Will Thomson, Jack Megget, or my younger brothers. I am often inclined to think, that my feelings towards them are but warmed by the remembered fervour of boyhood, and made romantic by distance of time. I am pretty sure, indeed, that it is so. And, if we could call up Benson innocent from the mould of South America

Could restore poor, dear Arthurmake Dallas forget his folly-and let them live together again in my society, I should be speedily indifferent about them too. My mind is as if slumbering, quite wrapped up in itself, and never wakes but to act a part. I rise in the morning, to eat, drink, talkto say what I do not think, to advocate questions which I care not forto join companions whom I value not, to indulge in sensual pleasures which I despise-to waste my hours in trifling amusements, or more trifling business, and to retire to my bed perfectly indifferent as to whether I am ever again S

to see the shining of the sun. Yet, is
my outside gay, and my conversation
sprightly. Within I generally stag-
nate, but sometimes there comes a
twinge, short indeed, but bitter. Then
it is that I am, to all appearance, most
volatile, most eager in dissipation; but
could you lift the covering which
shrouds the secrets of my bosom, you
would see that, like the inmates of the
hall of Eblis, my very heart was fire.
Ha-ha-ha!-say it again, Jemmy
-say it again, man-do not be afraid.
Ha-ha-ha!-too good-too good,
upon honour. I was crossed in love! I
in love. You make me laugh-excuse
my rudeness-ha-ha-ha! No, no,
thank God, though I committed fol-
lies of various kinds, I escaped that
foolery. I see my prosing has infected
you, has made you dull. Quick, un-
wire the champagne-let us drive spirits
into us by its generous tide. We are
growing muddy over the claret. I in
love! Banish all gloomy thoughts,
"A light heart and a thin pair of breeches
Goes thorough the world, my brave boys."
What say you to that? We should
drown all care in the bowl-fie on the
plebeian word,-we should dispel it
by the sparkling bubbles of wine, fit
to be drank by the gods; that is your
only true philosophy.

"Let us drink and be merry,
Dance, laugh, and rejoice,
With claret and sherry,
Theorbo and voice.

"This changeable world
To our joys is unjust;
All pleasure's uncertain,
So down with your dust.

"In pleasure dispose

Your pounds, shillings, and pence,
For we all shall be nothing

A hundred years hence."

What, not another bottle ?-Only one more !-Do not be so obstinate. Well, if you must, why, all I can say is, good night.

He is gone. A kind animal, but a fool, exactly what is called the best creature in the world. I have that affection for him that I have for Towler, and I believe his feelings towards me are like Towler's, an animal love of one whom he looks up to. An eating, drinking, good-humoured, good-natured varlet, who laughs at my jokes, when I tell him they are to be laughed at, sees things exactly in the light that I see them in, backs me in my asser

tions, and bets on me at whist. I had rather than ten thousand pounds be in singleness of soul, in thoughtlessness of brain, in honesty of intention, in solid contented ignorance, such as Jemmy Musgrove. That I cannot be. N'importe.

Booby as he is, he did hit a string which I thought had lost its vibration had become indurated like all my other feelings. Pish! It is well that I am alone. Surely the claret has made me maudlin, and the wine is oozing out at my eyes. Pish !-What nonsense. Ay, Margaret, it is exactly ten years ago. I was then twenty, and a fool. No, not a fool for loving you. By Heavens, I have lost my wits to talk this stuff! the wine has done its office, and I am maundering. Why did I love you? It was all my own perverse stupidity. I was, am, and ever will be, a blockhead, an idiot of the first water. And such a match for her to be driven into. She certainly should have let me know more of her intentions than she did. Indeed!-Why should she? Was she to caper after my whims, to sacrifice her happiness to my caprices, to my devotions of today, and my sulkinesses, or, still worse, my levities of to-morrow? No, no, Margaret: never-never-never, even in thought, let me accuse you, model of gentleness, of kindness, of goodness, as well as of beauty. I am to blame myself, and myself alone.

I can see her now, can talk to her without passion, can put up with her husband, and fondle her children. I have repressed that emotion, and, in doing so, all others. With that throb lost, went all the rest. I am now a mere card in the pack, shuffled about eternally with the set, but passive and senseless. I care no more for my neighbour, than the King of Diamonds cares for him of Clubs. Dear, dear Margaret, there is a lock of your hair enclosed unknown to you in a little case which lies over my heart. I seldom dare to look at it. Let me kiss its auburn folds once more, and remember the evening I took it. But I am growing more and more absurd. I drink your health then, and retire.

Here's a health to thee, Margaret,
Here's a health to thee;
The drinkers are gone,
And I am alone,

So here's a health to thee.

Dear, dear Margaret.

DEAR MR NORTH, SOME late events which have demonstrated the jobbery of the Whigs, and the folly of some of the Tories, appear to me worthy of being recorded, for the edification of the present, and example of all future generations. I am, myself, sir, an élève of the Pluckless School, but my own plucklessness is not the result of the same motives which influence the rest of my brethren. In the first place, I am a young and nearly feeless advocate, and I am inclined to think, that if I ventured openly to avow the principles of real Toryism which I feel in my heart, the few semi-Tory writers who occasionally send me a sequestration fee of two guineas at the beginning of a session, for which they expect me to make all the motions in all the cases they may happen to have in Court till the end of it, would instantly desert me, and encourage some seemingly moderate and smooth-speaking Whig. But, secondly, I happen to have a small spark of modesty in my composition, and when I find my seniors at the bar, and the avowed leaders of the Tories in Scotland, succumbing to the Whig scribes, I am not bold enough to stand forward at the head of a sort of forlorn hope, who might give me the slip in the very moment of the onset.

To you, however, my dear sir, I will be candid and open; to you I will disclose those sentiments which I dare not broach at a meeting of the Faculty, or even venture to suggest over a bottle of claret, at the table of any of my employers. To you I will open up a little specimen of Whig jobbery, and will shew you how it has been incubated and fostered by some old Tories, till the egg burst, and was found to be addled. You must know, then, that Satan, the leader of the Whigs, (they cannot fix on a leader for themselves, so I take the liberty of naming the father of opposition for them,) Satan, I say, regretting the trimming that some of his party had received at your hands, my dear Christopher, determined to lend them a helping hand in the way of a job, and in order to forward the plot, he fixed on a few Tories

as the instruments by which he would carry it through.

There are a dozen or two members of the chivalrous order of W. S., who hold a certain superiority over their brethren. You will find that, like the names of knights in the Red Book, these heroes are distinguished by a cross in our Edinburgh Almanack. To some of these Grand Crosses of the Quill the old gentleman addressed himself. Do not imagine that he appeared in the horrors of horns, hoof, and tail; he came in all gentle guise, and, carrying a powder puff in his hands, blew a cloud of vanity into their eyes, softly insinuating that it would be a fine thing for them to have the exclusive patronage of a chair in our University, and distantly hinting, that if they could mount one sort of chair, the time might come when some of them, the said K. G. C.'s, might aspire to another. If their body were qualified to teach law, who should say they were not fit to administer it likewise? In short, these gentlemen determined, at the instiga tion of the devil, in the shape of vanity, to endeavour to get a lectureship of conveyancing, which they had some years ago set agoing as a sort of pensionary situation for any member of their Society who might have parted from his practice, erected into a Professorship in the University.

The bargain was easily struck; the good old gentlemen thought they would steal a march on the Whigs by gaining their most sweet voices in favour of the measure, inasmuch as the present incumbent on the chair which they proposed to transport to the College, happened to be a member of that deluded faction; while all the time little did they suppose that in fact they were the dupes of the very party they meant to take in, and that the whole affair originated in a party manœuvre to get another Whig professor forced into the University.

This, as you know better than I do, is a part of the present grand scheine of the Whigs, to obtain the command and control of all public seminaries, and to exercise their tyranny over all private ones. They are, and have long