ABITS OF LIFE.

Now this event produced a great influence over Godolphin's habits--and
I suppose, therefore, I may add, over his character. He renewed his
acquaintance with the lively actress.

"What a change!" cried both.

"The strolling player risen into celebrity!"

"And the runaway boy polished into fashion!"

"You are handsomer than ever, Fanny."

"I return the compliment," replied Fanny; with a curtsey.

And now Godolphin became a constant attendant at the theatre. This led
him into a mode of life quite different from that which he had lately
cultivated.

There are in London two sets of idle men: one set, the butterflies of
balls; the loungers of the regular walks of society; diners out; the
"old familiar faces," seen everywhere, known to every one: the other
set, a more wild, irregular, careless race; who go little into parties,
and vote balls a nuisance; who live in clubs; frequent theatres; drive
about late o' nights in mysterious-looking vehicles and enjoy a vast
acquaintance among the Aspasias of pleasure. These are the men who are
the critics of theatricals: black-neckclothed and well-booted, they sit
in their boxes and decide on the ankles of a dancer or the voice of a
singer. They have a smattering of literature, and use a great deal of
French in their conversation: they have something of romance in their
composition, and have been known to marry for love. In short, there is
in their whole nature, a more roving, liberal, Continental character of
dissipation, than belongs to the cold, tame, dull, prim, hedge-clipped
indolence of more national exquisitism. Into this set, out of the other
set, fell young Godolphin; and oh! the merry mornings at actresses'
houses; the jovial suppers after the play; the buoyancy, the brilliancy,
the esprit, with which the hours, from midnight to cockcrow, were often
pelted with rose-leaves and drowned in Rhenish.

By degrees, however, as Godolphin warmed into his attendance at the
playhouses, the fine intellectual something that lay yet undestroyed at
his heart stirred up emotions which he felt his more vulgar associates
were unfitted to share.

There is that in theatrical representation which perpetually awakens
whatever romance belongs to our character. The magic lights; the pomp
of scene; the palace, the camp; the forest; the midnight wold; the
moonlight reflected on the water; the melody of the tragic rhythm; the
grace of the comic wit; the strange art that give