ldred from
his thoughts. Evidently he was a lost man.

And who or what, after all, was Alfred Winston? The, question, it may be
supposed, had often occurred to the Bloomfields. That he was an artist,
was a conjecture long ago given up; he travelled with no portfolio, and
was never known to use the pencil. That he was a literary man was also
contradicted by his own straightforward unaffected denials; if he had
cultivated his mind, it was solely for the pleasure or profit accruing
to himself. The manner in which his time was at his own disposal, seemed
to contradict the idea that he belonged to any of the learned
professions. What could he be therefore but simply a gentleman? And such
they had satisfied themselves, from many reasons, that he was. But there
are gentlemen and gentlemen--rich, and poor. To which of these two
classes did he belong? Question of questions. The moment it is asked how
all vain enchantments are dispersed! how the bare earth shows itself
directly beneath our feet! Where is now the bay of Naples, and
star-light, and Vesuvius? Is he rich or poor?

One word on the father of Alfred Winston will best explain his own
present position in the world. That father was one of a class of men
altogether inexplicable, quite unintelligible to sober-minded and
methodical persons; and yet the class is not so very rare. He was of
good birth and fortune, of agreeable manners, and witty conversation,
but utterly destitute of all prudential, all providential care, whether
for himself or others. He was born to an ample estate; and, fond of
pleasure as he was, he might have found it sufficient, with very little
effort of prudence, to gratify all his tastes. But from the very
commencement of his career, he entered upon the ruinous practice of
"eating the land with the revenue," and continued, in this manner,
consuming every year more of land and less of revenue. He early lost his
wife. He had been an amiable husband, and manifested a decorous sorrow
on the occasion; but could not disguise from his intimate friends the
pleasure he felt at the recovery of his bachelor freedom. He hated the
necessity of having to yield his own inclinations to another; though he
hated still more the alternative of having to dispute with that other
for liberty to follow his own inclinations.

After the decease of his wife, the elder Winston lived, for the most
part, a roaming life upon the Continent. A little intrigue, a little
gaming, the d