health's sake. There was matting and a velvet cushion in the dean's stall; none in that of the prebendaries.

My common sense told me all this ought to be reversed; but I supposed it was human nature, though I could not make it out.

I afterwards, indeed, became acquainted with courtiers and coquettes, both male and female; but though disguise had become with them a system, and a sort of trade, I found that the only difference between them and younger people was, that they had more experience.

I was first led to the observation of this, by seeing a young man of my own age excessively. attentive to a very old, and apparently disagreeable woman. I asked his reason. He said it was mere charity, as few would take the least notice of her;-and, as I knew he was goodnatured, I believed him. I afterwards found. that a certain great lady, to whom the other had been governess, and who thought it a duty to correspond with her, was fond of chit-chat, and made her deal largely in gossip; so that all my friend ever said or did was sure to be put down, and sent to the great lady. With her, she being one of the sovereigns of fashion, it was an object with him to stand well. Moreover, the great lady had a very pretty daughter, and both mother and

daughter were rather romantic; and accordingly my friend's conversations with the old governess were always sentimental and romantic. To read the governess's letters, one would have supposed him Sir Charles Grandison himself: which did him no disservice with the ladies in question. Nothing, I believe, particular came of it, except the introduction he so much wished, to a place in society which he might otherwise have failed to acquire.

All this I afterwards learned from the great lady herself, and it illustrated my growing theory as to a division of motives, assignable and unassignable, which afterwards stood me in much stead in my commerce with the world.

One of the most pregnant instances of this occurred when I was very young, at a great festive Easter assemblage, at a great castle in the south. It was full of dance and jollity, midnight sport and revelry; in short, it was, among other amusements, the temple of music. One of the priestesses was particularly excellent at the piano; yet not content with the praises which really were her due, she always played with gloves on, the fingers of which, too, were longer than could be convenient for any common occupation. We all wondered at this, as we thought it must impede her play. She said it did, but that without

the warmth of this aid, her poor fingers could not move at all. This astonished us the more, as no one, even without gloves, could show such rapidity of finger. Our astonishment was exactly what she wanted. She sang well too, and sang often; and being "Lady Mary," completely eclipsed a young female commoner, who yet had many fair pretensions. The eclipse grieved her mother to the soul. One day Lady Mary kept her room with a cold. "Ah! poor thing!" said the rival's mother, "poor, dear Lady Mary; she cannot, must not come down; and we cannot hear her sing to-night." This concern gave me a high idea of the lady's friendship, which lasted full an hour, until I heard her felicitating herself and her daughter, that they should, that evening at least, listen to her, without being forced to hear any odious Lady Mary. I was astounded, but thinking it the way of the world, went on observing.

From possessing the sort of curiosity I have described, almost every incident that arose, trivial or serious, turned itself to account. But I was a sad novice at first; for, strange to say, I had never been in London, and my experience had been confined to a country village, or at best to Oxford. I was, in fact, sadly ashamed of my ignorance, and sometimes seemed ridiculous, even to myself,

by the surprise I expressed at the many new discoveries I daily made.

About this time, my father died. I came to London, and was glad to be taken under the protection of one of my cousins, a man of considerable fashion, and what I liked more, not only very observing, and infinitely more knowing than myself, but kindly communicative; of which I had all the benefit. Sir Charles Etheredge was indeed " a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse, and great admittance ;" and with him I associated' much, and was the less scrupulous in allowing myself to be amused by his turn for satire, because I knew at bottom he had both benevolence and honour. His turn was indeed decidedly critical. He probed deeply; was a lover of Rochefocault and La Bruyère; did not dislike Lord Halifax or Horace Walpole, and had no aversion to Swift. But on the other hand, he idolized Addison; and, however he laughed at the follies of women, no man was more alive to the softness and dignity of the female character, where they really existed. He was, in fact, like Lord

Dorset,

"The best good natured man with the worst natured Muse."

From this gentleman I received many lessons, as will be seen; and no occupation, or meeting of

amusement, no scene, public or private, in house or street, walking or riding, in garden or park, was exempt from this instruction. In short, wherever there were men and women, there also was food for keen observation.

The first time this disposition of his challenged my notice, was in a walk, when we were met by an active, open-countenanced man, who eagerly addressed him with inquiries after his health; was glad to see him so perfectly well; hoped he had no return of the nasty pains that used to plague him; in short, prayed, to use the Spanish phrase, that he might live a thousand years. As I had never heard of this gentleman before, I was surprised at the eagerness of his address; but Etheredge explained it, by telling me the man was sincere, for he was chairman of a great insurance company, where Etheredge's life was insured to a large amount.

Soon after we were accosted by a person who drove by in a most fashionable barouche, but stopped to ask us whether it was true that the drawing-room of next day was postponed? "You mean to be there, of course," said Etheredge. "I wished it," replied he, with a sigh, "but you know my poor friend Lord C. died yesterday, and we were so intimate, I don't think I could