his had
belonged to George Frederick Cooke, who had had it from Mr. Quin,
who may have bought it for a shilling. Bingley fancied the world was
fascinated with its glitter.

He was reading out of the stage-book--that wonderful stage-book which
is not bound like any other book in the world, but is rouged and tawdry
like the hero or heroine who holds it; and who holds it as people never
do hold books: and points with his finger to a passage, and wags his
head ominously at the audience, and then lifts up eyes and finger to
the ceiling professing to derive some intense consolation from the work
between which and heaven there is a strong affinity. Anybody who
has ever seen one of our great light comedians, X., in a chintz
dressing-gown, such as nobody ever wore, and representing himself to the
public as a young nobleman in his apartments, and whiling away the time
with light literature until his friend Sir Harry shall arrive, or his
father shall come down to breakfast--anybody, I say, who has seen the
great X. over a sham book has indeed had a great pleasure and an abiding
matter for thought.

Directly the Stranger saw the young men, he acted at them; eyeing them
solemnly over his gilt volume as he lay on the stage-bank showing his
hand, his ring, and his Hessians. He calculated the effect that every
one of these ornaments would produce upon his victims: he was determined
to fascinate them, for he knew they had paid their money; and he saw
their families coming in from the country and filling the cane chairs in
his boxes.

As he lay on the bank reading, his servant, Francis, made remarks upon
his master.

"Again reading," said Francis, "thus it is, from morn to night. To him
nature has no beauty--life no charm. For three years I have never seen
him smile" (the gloom of Bingley's face was fearful to witness during
these comments of the faithful domestic). "Nothing diverts him. O, if
he would but attach himself to any living thing, were it an animal--for
something man must love."

[Enter Tobias (Goll) from the hut.] He cries, "O, how refreshing,
after seven long weeks, to feel these warm sunbeams once again. Thanks,
bounteous heaven, for the joy I taste!" He presses his cap between his
hands, looks up and prays. The Stranger eyes him attentively.

Francis to the Stranger. "This old man's share of earthly happiness can
be but little. Yet mark how grateful he is for his portion of it."

Bingley. "Because though old, he i