Thornton was playing as eagerly with his small quota as Lord C--with his
ten thousands. He nodded with an affected air of familiarity to Tyrrell,
who returned his salutation with the most supercilious hauteur; and very
soon afterwards the baronet was utterly engrossed by the chances of the
game. I had, however, satisfied my curiosity, in ascertaining that there
was no longer any intimacy between him and Thornton, and accordingly once
more I took my departure.




CHAPTER LVI.

The times have been
That when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end--but now they rise again.
--Macbeth.

It was a strange thing to see a man like Glanville, with costly tastes,
luxurious habits, great talents, peculiarly calculated for display,
courted by the highest members of the state, admired for his beauty and
genius by half the women in London, yet living in the most ascetic
seclusion from his kind, and indulging in the darkest and most morbid
despondency. No female was ever seen to win even his momentary glance of
admiration. All the senses seemed to have lost, for his palate, their
customary allurements. He lived among his books, and seemed to make his
favourite companions amidst the past. At nearly all hours of the night he
was awake and occupied, and at day-break his horse was always brought to
his door. He rode alone for several hours, and then, on his return, he
was employed till the hour he went to the House, in the affairs and