to leave his visitor to open the subject himself, and appeared
courteously to consider the visit as a matter of course, made without
any other object than the renewal of the mutual pleasure of intercourse.

"I am afraid, my Lord," said Aram, "that you are engaged. My visit can
be paid to-morrow if--" "Indeed," said the Earl interrupting him,
and drawing a chair to the table, "I have no engagements which should
deprive me of the pleasure of your company. A few friends have indeed
dined with me, but as they are now with Lady--, I do not think they will
greatly miss me; besides, an occasional absence is readily forgiven in
us happy men of office--we, who have the honour of exciting the envy of
all England, for being made magnificently wretched."

"I am glad you allow so much, my Lord," said Aram smiling, "I could not
have said more. Ambition only makes a favourite to make an ingrate;--she
has lavished her honours on Lord--, and see how he speaks of her
bounty?"

"Nay," said the Earl, "I spoke wantonly, and stand corrected. I have no
reason to complain of the course I have chosen. Ambition, like any other
passion, gives us unhappy moments; but it gives us also an animated
life. In its pursuit, the minor evils of the world are not felt; little
crosses, little vexations do not disturb us. Like men who walk in
sleep, we are absorbed in one powerful dream, and do not even know the
obstacles in our way, or the dangers that surround us: in a word, we
have no private life. All that is merely domestic, the anxiety and the
loss which fret other men, which blight the happiness of other men, are
not felt by us: we are wholly public;--so that if we lose much comfort,
we escape much care."

The Earl broke off for a moment; and then turning the subject, inquired
after the Lesters, and making some general and vague observations about
that family, came purposely to a pause.

Aram broke it:--"My Lord," said he, with a slight, but not ungraceful,
embarrassment, "I fear that, in the course of your political life, you
must have made one observation, that he who promises to-day, will be
called upon to perform to-morrow. No man who has any thing to bestow,
can ever promise with impunity. Some time since, you tendered me offers
that would have dazzled more ardent natures than mine; and which I might
have advanced some claim to philosophy in refusing. I do not now come to
ask a renewal of those offers. Public life, and the haunts of men, are