night! and, he--he--but enough of this: I must dress, and then to
Talbot."

Muttering these wayward fancies, Clarence rose, completed his toilet,
sent for his horses, and repaired to a village about seven miles from
London, where Talbot, having yielded to Clarence's fears and
solicitations, and left his former insecure tenement, now resided
under the guard and care of an especial and private watchman.

It was a pretty, quiet villa, surrounded by a plantation and pleasure-
ground of some extent for a suburban residence, in which the old
philosopher (for though in some respects still frail and prejudiced,
Talbot deserved that name) held his home. The ancient servant, on
whom four years had passed lightly and favouringly, opened the door to
Clarence, with his usual smile of greeting and familiar yet respectful
salutation, and ushered our hero into a room, furnished with the usual
fastidious and rather feminine luxury which characterized Talbot's
tastes. Sitting with his back turned to the light, in a large easy-
chair, Clarence found the wreck of the once gallant, gay Lothario.

There was not much alteration in his countenance since we last saw
him; the lines, it is true, were a little more decided, and the cheeks
a little more sunken; but the dark eye beamed with all its wonted
vivacity, and the delicate contour of the mouth preserved all its
physiognomical characteristics of the inward man. He rose with
somewhat more difficulty than he was formerly wont to do, and his
limbs had lost much of their symmetrical proportions; yet the kind
clasp of his hand was as firm and warm as when it had pressed that of
the boyish attache four years since; and the voice which expressed his
salutation yet breathed its unconquered suavity and distinctness of