"Sine me vacivum tempus ne quod dem mihi Laboris."*--TER.

* Suffer me to employ my spare time in some kind of labour.

"I CAN'T think," said one of a group of young men, loitering by the
steps of a clubhouse in St. James's Street--"I can't think what has
chanced to Maltravers. Do you observe (as he walks--there--the other
side of the way) how much he is altered? He stoops like an old man, and
hardly ever lifts his eyes from the ground. He certainly seems sick and
sad."

"Writing books, I suppose."

"Or privately married."

"Or growing too rich--rich men are always unhappy beings."

"Ha, Ferrers, how are you?"

"So-so. What's the news?" replied Lumley.

"Rattler pays forfeit."

"O! but in politics?"

"Hang politics--are you turned politician?"

"At my age, what else is there left to do?"