h ends of the table; by
the host upon the state of Europe, and by the hostess upon the state of
the season. Had it not been for the young Duke, nothing would have
given Lady Fitz-pompey greater pleasure than to have received him as
a son-in-law; but, as it was, he was only kept in store for the second
string to Cupid's bow.

Lord Darrell had just quitted the House in a costume which, though
rough, was not less studied than the finished and elaborate toilet
which, in the course of an hour, he will exhibit in the enchanted halls
of Almack's. There he will figure to the last, the most active and the
most remarked; and though after these continued exertions he will not
gain his couch perhaps till seven, our Lord of the Treasury, for he
is one, will resume his official duties at an earlier hour than any
functionary in the kingdom.

Yet our friend is a little annoyed now. What is the matter? He dilates
to his uncle, Lord Seymour Temple, a greyheaded placeman, on the
profligacy of the press. What is this? The Virgilian line our orator
introduced so felicitously is omitted. He panegyrizes the 'Mirror of
Parliament,' where, he has no doubt, the missing verse will appear. The
quotation was new, 'Timeo Danaos.'

Lord Seymour Temple begins a long story about Fox and General
Fitzpatrick. This is a signal for a general retreat; and the bore, as
Sir Boyle Roche would say, like the last rose of summer, remains talking
to himself.

CHAPTER V.

_His Grace's Rival_

ARUNDEL DACRE was the only child of Mr. Dacre's only and deceased
brother, and the heir to the whole of the Dacre property. His father,
a man of violent passions, had married early in life, against the
approbation of his family, and had revolted from the Catholic communion.
The elder brother, however mortified by this great deed, which passion
had prompted, and not conscience, had exerted his best offices to
mollify their exasperated father, and to reconcile the sire to the son.
But he had exerted them ineffectually; and, as is not unusual, found,
after much harrowing anxiety and deep suffering, that he was not even
recompensed for his exertions and his sympathy by the gratitude of his
brother. The younger Dacre was not one of those minds whose rashness and
impetuosity are counterbalanced, or rather compensated, by a generous
candour and an amiable remorse. He was headstrong, but he was obstinate:
he was ardent, but he was sullen: he was unwary, but he was s