was over, and then burst
into tears. 'Why do you cry so?' said I. 'Because it was so cruel in us
to drown the poor puppy!' replied the juvenile Philocunos. 'Pooh," said
I, "'Quid juvat errores mersa jam puppe fateri.'" Was it not good?--you
remember it in Claudian, eh, Pelham? Think of its being thrown away on
those Latinless young lubbers! Have you seen any thing of Mr. Thornton
lately?"

"No," said I, "I've not, but I am determined to have that pleasure
soon."

"You will do as you please," said Vincent, "but you will be like the
child playing with edged tools."

"I am not a child," said I, "so the simile is not good. He must be the
devil himself, or a Scotchman at least, to take me in."

Vincent shook his head. "Come and dine with me at the Rocher," said he;
"we are a party of six--choice spirits all."

"Volontiers; but we can stroll in the Tuileries first, if you have no
other engagement."

"None," said Vincent, putting his arm in mine.

As we passed up the Rue de la Paix, we met Sir Henry Millington, mounted
on a bay horse, as stiff as himself, and cantering down the street as if
he and his steed had been cut out of pasteboard together.

"I wish," said Vincent, (to borrow Luttrel's quotation,) "that that
master of arts would 'cleanse his bosom of that perilous stuff.' I
should like to know in what recess of that immense mass now cantering
round the corner is the real body of Sir Henry Millington. I could fancy
the poor snug little thing shrinking within, like a guilty conscience.
Ah, well says Juvenal,

"'Mors sola fatetur Quantula sint hominum corpuscula.'"

"He has a superb head, though," I replied. "I like to allow that other
people are handsome now and then--it looks generous."

"Yes," said Vincent, "for a barber's block: but here comes Mrs. C--me,
and her beautiful daughter--those are people you ought to know, if you
wish to see human nature a little relieved from the frivolities which
make it in society so like a man milliner. Mrs. C--has considerable
genius, combined with great common sense."

"A rare union," said I.

"By no means," replied Vincent. "It is a cant antithesis in opinion to
oppose them to one another; but, so far as mere theoretical common
sense is concerned, I would much sooner apply to a great poet or a great
orator for advice on matter of business, than any dull plodder who
has passed his whole life in a counting-house. Common sense is only a
modification of talent--genius i