CHAPTER LXX.

Then must I plunge again into the crowd,
And follow all that peace disdains to seek.
--Byron.

In the quiet of my retreat I remained for eight days--during which time I
never looked once at a newspaper--imagine how great was my philosophy! On
the ninth, I began to think it high time I should hear from Dawton; and
finding that I had eaten two rolls for breakfast, and that my untimely
wrinkle began to assume a more mitigated appearance, I bethought me once
more of the "Beauties of Babylon."

While I was in this kindly mood towards the great city and its
inhabitants, my landlady put two letters in my hand--one was from my
mother, the other from Guloseton. I opened the latter first; it ran thus:

"Dear Pelham,

"I was very sorry to hear you had left town--and so unexpectedly too. I
obtained your address from Mivart's, and hasten to avail myself of it.
Pray come to town immediately, I have received some chevreuil as a
present, and long for your opinion; it is too nice to keep: for all
things nice were made but to grow bad when nicest; as Moore, I believe,
says of flowers, substituting sweet and fleetest, for bad and nicest; so,
you see, you must come without loss of time.