His immediate object, therefore, was not alone to enrich himself by impoverishing Stanley, but to draw him into the vortex of vice; and, in pursuance of this object, he determined on losing no time.

"I think I shall cut you," said he, soon after Albert's departure for Cambridge. "It strikes me that you and I must cease to associate; for upon my honour you are making me as bad as yourself." "What's the matter?" inquired Stanley. "Anything wrong? "Wrong!-why, you may not deem it essentially wrong to drag a strictly virtuous man into scenes of dissipation; but it is, notwithstanding, wrong in the abstract. I admit that my natural disposition is not that of a recluse; but I used to have a little discretion." "And do you ascribe the loss of it to me?"

"To whom else can I ascribe it? Evil communications corrupt good manners.' I am not like the same man."

"I feel flattered, of course," said Stanley. "I scarcely could have supposed that I possessed so much influence."

It is a disease," rejoined Sir William, "and that disease is contagious. It creeps and grows upon a virtuous man almost imperceptibly; it prostrates his energies for business; it renders study a bore. It may be, and is, doubtless; all very well for you, who have no pursuit save that of pleasure; but for a man like me, having the interests of the nation in general, and those of his constituents in particular, to promote, it becomes a very serious affair."

"So it does," said Stanley, smiling, and more especially serious to a man who has those interests so deeply at heart as you have. But how have I effected this change? What scenes have I ever drawn you into ?"

"I scarcely can tell how the change has been effected, nor need I enumerate the scenes into which I have been drawn. It is sufficient for me to know that I never go into any one of them without you, and that were it not for you, I should never go at all. Now, there's a masquerade, or a fancy ball, or something of that sort, to-night; I suppose you have made up your mind to go to that? ?’

"I have not even given it a thought."

"Nor should I, had it not been for you. But, of course, you will

be there?"

"I have no objection to go."

"I knew that. And you would drag me with you?"

"Why, as I should not think of going alone, and as your society is at all times so very agreeable —”

"Exactly. You need say no more. But if I go, however dazzling may be the scene, and I expect that it will be rather brilliant,—I leave precisely at one; remember that.”

With all my heart. I have no desire to stop late."

"Of course you have not. You never have. But let us make up our minds to leave at one, or half-past at the very latest." "Whenever you are ready I'll be ready too. But, are we to dress?"

"Why it is more of a fancy ball, I believe, than anything else. But we can soon get dresses. Will you call for me at ten? "I will; but recollect we leave at one."

Sir William smiled, and having observed that it was really too bad to draw him into such scenes, took his leave, with the understanding that they were to start from the Albany at ten.

He had proved that this ironical style was that which told best with Stanley: he had proved that the highest point of his ambition was to be regarded as a fellow of infinite spirit; and that, although he seemed to view the idea of his leading as an excellent jest, he in reality felt flattered. He therefore resolved to adhere to this style: his first object being to induce the belief that he was fascinated by Stanley, and that he and not Stanley was the victim.

And nothing in his judgment could be more easily created than such a belief. He argued thus: every man has vanity; every man is vain of the real or fancied possession of some particular quality, and his vanity forms his weak point: assail that point by feeding his vanity, and the man is all your own. He had discovered the weak point of Stanley. He well knew the particular quality of which he was vain, and hence felt quite sure of effecting his ruin, which he held to be essential to the achievement of the grand object he had in view.

Having passed the day with Amelia-who now felt inspired with gaiety and joy, for the reconciliation seemed to have perfected her happiness.-Stanley at the appointed hour called upon Sir William, and they soon after started, first to procure their fancy-dresses, and then for the gay and dazzling scene.

On entering the spacious and brilliant saloon, which was crowded with persons who appeared to have been attracted from every civilized part of the globe, Sir William, in the costume of a red-cross knight, was recognised by several " foreigners of distinction," whom he greeted, and in due form presented to Stanley.

There was not, however, nearly so much spirit displayed as Stanley expected to witness. The scene was certainly splendid and imposing; but the characters seemed to have assembled not so much for any present enjoyment as with a view to some prospective advantage. They all appeared to have an ulterior object: the expression of every countenance was indicative of design, which Stanley at first thought strange, but attributing this comparative dulness to the fact of its being yet early, he entered into the business of the scene, and joined the dance with as much gaiety as if the task of re-animating the spirits of the whole assembly had devolved upon him

alone.

While he was thus zealously engaged, Sir William was not inactive: he was looking for one who he fancied would be a far more suitable partner for his friend than the lady with whom he was dancing, and having found her, and conversed with her privately for a time, he introduced her in the most friendly manner to Stanley, of whom she at once became desperately enamoured. Her first object was to fix him as a partner; and in this she succeeded, when, as Stanley felt flattered by the preference she displayed, and as, by virtue of having a constant flow of spirits she made herself extremely agreeable, he had no wish to change, and they continued to be partners during the whole of the evening.

Sir William perceived this with pleasure. It gave him immense satisfaction to see Stanley thus playing his game. He knew that he had placed him in accomplished hands, and felt sure that his seduction from the path of honour had been thereby secured.

"Now," said he, as Stanley and his partner were chatting gaily in the promenade, "you remember: one o'clock."

"I am ready," replied Stanley, "when you are."

"Why why!" exclaimed his partner, in amazement, "you do not intend to leave yet! You must not dream of such a thing. I could not possibly part with you. Besides it would be cruel. If you leave, I am resolved to leave with you. But come, pray take me in to supper? You will let me sup with you? Will you not? Come! It is a pleasure I have been anticipating the whole of the evening: you will not deprive me of that."

"There is my guide and governor," said Stanley. "I shall be happy to do so if he will grant permission."

"I knew precisely how it would be," observed Sir William. " I knew that we should never get away at one o'clock. However, if we are to have supper, we had better have it now. My partner and I will follow; but recollect, immediately after we leave."

They accordingly repaired to the supper-room at once, and the champagne passed round with great rapidity. The ladies drank with characteristic freedom, and Sir William was constantly filling his glass; but Stanley, notwithstanding the repeated challenges he received, was unusually cautious.

Of course, after supper the ladies insisted upon having another dance: one more-only one; they really could not think of leaving without: it was actually indispensable, and as such was assumed to be the case, the consent of their partners was obtained, and they returned to the ball-room, and danced the next set, and the next: in short, they continued to dance until half-past four, when Stanley resolved to quit the scene, a resolution which could not be shaken.

It was then that Sir William discovered that the project of the evening had failed, for it was then that he ascertained that the partner whom he had selected for Stanley had been unable to prevail upon him to make an appointment, or even to promise that he would see her again. He was, notwithstanding, pleased that he had taken him there: indeed, having on the instant conceived the design of causing a tale to reach the ears of Amelia based upon the fact of his having been present, he fancied that his purpose might be answered as well, although he would most decidedly have preferred Stanley's

absolute fall.

CHAPTER XXV.

Venerable Joe promulgates his matrimonial views.

As Bob very early in the evening on which Sir William designed to lay the foundation of Stanley's ruin, ascertained that he should not be again wanted, he put up his horses, made himself truly tidy, and then went to have a few hours' confidential conversation with Venerable Joe, whom he held in high esteem.

Bob scarcely could tell how it was that he respected that venerable gentleman so highly, although it may with perfect safety be attributed to the fact of his morality being strictly correct, while his deportment was perfectly gentleman-like and free; but he certainly did regard him as a very superior sort of an individual, one from whom much valuable knowledge might be gleaned, and with whom a man of honour might associate without having his reputation either tarnished or impugned.

On the other hand, Venerable Joe had inspired an exalted appreciation of Bob's integrity. He knew that his moral principles were sound, inasmuch as he had paid like a peer of the realm for the brandy-and-water he lost on the Derby. But, independently of this

although this was the cement, for if Bob could not have paid for that brandy-and-water, their friendship, of course, must have been at an end, he admired his intellectual acquirements as he had witnessed their developement in the tap, where Bob once actually put a man down who was canvassing the conduct of Alexander the Great; and hence, whenever they met they met as friends — bosom friends -friends bound to each other for life.

On this occasion, to show the strength and virgin purity of the friendship which had sprung up between them, Bob no sooner beheld Venerable Joe than he struck a very highly-approved pugilistic attitude, and the venerable gentleman struck another, and they sparred with great science for more than ten minutes in really the most affectionate manner possible.

"Vell, my leetle lily!" exclaimed the venerable gentleman, who was the first to drop his arms, "and wot is the werdict? Hay! 'ow do you bring it in now?"

"Never better," replied Bob. "How's yourself?"

"Hif it warn't for them roomatiz! Them's the on'y things as wexes my sentiments. But ve 're all on us safe to 'ave somethink! The best vay 's to look at things fillysophocle, and then they don't seem nothink like wot they are."

"That's somewhere about the average, I believe," observed Bob. "But, how long will it be afore you're done?"

"Not the space of an instant. Go over to the tap, and I'll be with you in a leetle less than no time."

Bob did so, and was soon after joined by his venerable friend, when they entered deeply into the discussion of various subjects, and eventually touched upon that of matrimony as it stands.

"Are you a Benediction?" inquired Bob.

The venerable gentleman scratched his head, and looked as if a slight explanation would be pleasant.

"A Benediction! You know what I mean, you know. Was you ever married?"

'Not if I know it," said Venerable Joe, — "not a ha'porth of it! No, no; I never vos guilty of that. But why didn't you put it in the right p'int of wiew? Why didn't you arst if I ever vos mad? I shood then a hunderstood it; 'cos to be married is to be mad!" "Under all circumstantials?" inquired Bob.

"Why, hif you've enough, you know, for to keep a missis, and to bring up a whole mob of leetle indiwiduals respectable, it mayn't be so bad; but, onless a man is gifted with a hindependent business he don't ought to do it. He'd better p'ison hisself out-and-out. But you never dream of marrying?"

"Why, I don't know; I do sometimes think it would be plea

sant."

"Pleasant!" cried the venerable gentleman. "But, in course, you 're on'y joking?"

"No; as true as I'm alive I'm quite serious."

"You are? Then jist let me give you a leetle adwice. Turn the hidear clean out of your 'ed. Don't have it! Marriage is a swin

dle: it's a reg'lar himposition. It's all wery well, p'raps, for genelmen to marry, 'cos, in course, they can wery well stand the hexpence, and it makes good for servants; but for us to think of doing sich a thing! it's no go: mark my words, it's no go. The gals, in course, have a natʼral right to ketch us, if they can; but we don't ought to be cotched. It's a dead take in! Besides, marriage spiles the gals. Vile you're a-courtin' on 'em, butter von't melt in their mouths: they dress nice, and speak nice, and know how to behave: but, directly you get 'em home they let you know vot 's o'clock. That's the p'int. Then, instead of sweet vords, smiles, and sutterer, you've nothink but blowin's up, black looks, and bounce. Then's ven they lets their tongues loose. It's then ven they show off, and let's you see the difference. They know they're all right. You can't help yourself then. They sets you at defiance. You may take your change out of it, and go and do your best and your vust: try all you know, there's no gettin' rid on 'em. Vot is it, then, but a dead take in? Vot is it but a reg'lar out-and-out himposition? If I buy an 'oss to go quiet in 'arness, and ven I gets him home I finds the warmant full of wice, is it anythink but a swindle? And, vot is it but a swindle ven I marries a gal vich varrants herself to be a good un, and she turns out a bad un?"

"But they are not all alike?" suggested Bob.

"I don't know. They're pooty much of a muchness, take em out of the kitchen. If you're always flush o' money, you may manage to get along with a few on' em, praps; but the moment you happen to be short, they begin to let out. Cooks, however, them's the warmant! I'll back 'em to beat the vorld. There! if I had my time to come over agin, and a cook and a bottle of pison vos putt afore me, if I vos obligated for to take aither the one or the tother, I'd svaller the p'ison with joy."

"But there's some cooks a decentish sort," urged Bob. "Not a single indiwidual one among 'em. They're a werry queer lot, and has a lot they do make the most warmentist of vives upon the face of the earth." But s'pose a man does get a decentish one,-not a cook, for that 's clean out of natur',-but s'pose he happens to get hold of a fairish piece o' goods, vot's his 'appiness? Hindependence-the joy of his life's gone. He can't go out arout ketchin' it ven he gets back. If he meets vith a friend, he mustn't stop vith that friend; nayther must he bring him home, onless he vonts for to have him hinsulted. He may call hisself master of his own crib if he likes; but vot a man calls hisself under them there circumstantials is a werry different thing from vot he is. It's the cruellest specie of slavery in natur'. Tork o' the black Africans !— And then the expense: that's another himposition. They tell yer, in course, vere one can live a couple can live! It's a reg'lar do-a cruel do. The expenses is safe to increase. You can't go out arout a doublin' on 'em, no how. On'y try Gravesend jist for instance. Hindependent of the expense of riggin' out, and there's safe to be somethink or 'nother vonted, there's a couple o' shillin's there; that's got to be doubled; a couple o' shillin's back; that's got to be doubled; a couple o' dinners, a couple o' teas, in short, a couple of every hindiwidual thing. Call for a glass of gin-and-water: why, it's gone afore you know vere you are! They can't drink afore marriage. Oh, no! thev can on'y jist breathe upon the hedge o' the