sated at last; and when wearied of too wide a flight we
limit our excursions, and looking round us discover the narrow bounds
of our proper end, we grow satisfied with the loss of rapture if we
can partake of enjoyment; and the experience which seemed at first so
bitterly to betray us becomes our most real benefactor, and ultimately
leads us to content. For it is the excess and not the nature of our
passions which is perishable. Like the trees which grew by the tomb of
Protesilaus, the passions flourish till they reach a certain height, but
no sooner is that height attained than they wither away."

Before I could reply, our conversation received an abrupt and complete
interruption for the night. The door was thrown open, and a man, pushing
aside the servant with a rude and yet a dignified air, entered the room
unannounced, and with the most perfect disregard to ceremony--

"How d'ye do, Mr. St. John," said he,--"how d'ye do?--Pretty sort of a
day we've had. Lucky to find you at home,--that is to say if you will
give me some broiled oysters and champagne for supper."

"With all my heart, Doctor," said St. John, changing his manner at once
from the pensive to an easy and somewhat brusque familiarity,--"with
all my heart; but I am glad to hear you are a convert to champagne: you
spent a whole evening last week in endeavouring to dissuade me from the
sparkling sin."

"Pish! I had suffered the day before from it; so, like a true Old Bailey
penitent, I preached up conversion to others, not from a desire of their
welfare, but a plaguy sore feeling for my own misfortune. Where did you
dine to-day? At home! Oh! the devil! I starved on three courses at the
Duke of Ormond's."

"Aha! Honest Matt was there?"

"Yes, to my cost. He borrowed a shilling of me for a chair. Hang this
weather, it costs me seven shillings a day for coach-fare, besides my
paying the fares of all my poor brother parsons, who come over from
Ireland to solicit my patronage for a bishopric, and end by borrowing
half-a-crown in the meanwhile. But Matt Prior will pay me again, I
suppose, out of the public money?"

"To be sure, if Chloe does not ruin him first."

"Hang the slut: don't talk of her. How Prior rails against his place!*
He says the excise spoils his wit, and that the only rhymes he ever
dreams of now-a-days are 'docket and cocket.'"

* In the Customs.

"Ha, ha! we must do something better for Matt,--make him a bishop or an
ambassador.