into a cardinal."

"Nay," said I, smiling, "there is little chance of so exalted a lot for
the worthy Bishop."

"Pardon me," interrupted Hamilton, "I am an old courtier, and look
steadily on the game I no longer play. Suppleness, united with art, may
do anything in a court like this; and the smooth and unelevated craft of
a Fleuri may win even to the same height as the deep wiles of the
glittering Mazarin, or the superb genius of the imperious Richelieu."

"Hist!" said I, "the Bishop has reappeared. Who is that old priest with
a fine countenance and an address that will, at least, please you better
than that of the Prior of Argenteuil, who has just stopped our episcopal
courtier?"

"What! do you not know? It is the most celebrated preacher of the
day,--the great Massillon. It is said that that handsome person goes a
great way towards winning converts among the court ladies; it is
certain, at least, that when Massillon first entered the profession he
was to the soul something like the spear of Achilles to the body; and,
though very efficacious in healing the wounds of conscience, was equally
ready in the first instance to inflict them."

"Ah," said I, "see the malice of wit; and see, above all, how much more
ready one is to mention a man's frailties than to enlarge upon his
virtues."

"To be sure," answered Hamilton, coolly, and patting his snuff-box, "to
be sure, we old people like history better than fiction; and frailty is