d good-humoured, sensual countenance presented
a strong contrast to the careworn expression of the Prince's face.
Dressed in a long loose robe of white cloth, which he wore not
ungracefully, his well-rounded legs crossed negligently in front of him,
and his hands clasped with an air of quiet and happy composure, the man
was a perfect picture of a jolly friar, well-to-do and contented. This
was George Kelly, the very type of happy, self-satisfied sensuality. If
a phrenologist would have augured favourably from the noble development
of forehead and temples, the massive back-head and widely spreading
occiput would have quickly shown that nature had alloyed every good gift
with a counterpoise of low tastes and bad passions, more than enough to
destroy the balance of character.

'Who 's there? Who 's in waiting?' muttered the Prince, half aloud, as
if suddenly arousing himself.

'Kelly--only Kelly,' answered the friar. 'Then the wine is not finished,
George, eh? that's certain; the decanters are not empty. What hour is
it?' 'As well as I can see, it wants a few minutes of five.'

'Of five! of five! Night or morning, which?'

'Five in the evening. I believe one might venture to call it night, for
they're lighting the lamps in the streets already.'

'What's this here for, George,' said the Prince, lifting up the sword.
'We're not going to Bannockburn, are we? Egad! if we be, I trust they
'll give me a better weapon. What nonsense of yours is all this?'

'Don't you remember it was your Majesty's birthday, and that you dressed
to receive the ministers?'

'To be sure I do; and we did receive them, George, didn't we? Have I not
been drinking loyal toasts to every monarchy of Europe, and wishing
well to those who need it not? Fifty-one, or fifty-two, which are we,
George?'

'Faith, I forget,' said Kelly carelessly; 'but, like this Burgundy,
quite old enough to be better.'

'The reproach comes well from _you_, you old reprobate! Whose counsels
have made me what I am? Bolingbroke warned me against you many a
long year back. Atterbury knew you too, and told me what you were. By
Heaven!' cried he, with a wilder energy, 'it was that very spirit of
dictation, that habit of prescribing to me whom to know, where to
lean, what to say, and what to leave unsaid, has made me so rash and
headstrong through life. A fellow of your caste had otherwise obtained
no hold upon me; a lowbred, illiterate drunkard----'

A hearty burst of laug