cheek; her form wasted; the physicians hinted at consumption, and
recommended a warmer clime. Lord Erpingham seized at the proposition; he
was fond of Italy; he was bored with England.

Very stupid people often become very musical: it is a sort of pretension
to intellect that suits their capacities. Plutarch says somewhere that
the best musical instruments are made from the jaw-bones of asses.
Plutarch never made a more sensible observation. Lord Erpingham had of
late taken greatly to operas: he talked of writing one himself; and not
being a performer, he consoled himself by becoming a patron. Italy,
therefore, presented to him manifold captivations--he thought of fiddling,
but he talked only of his wife's health. Amidst the regrets of the London
world, they made their arrangements, and prepared to set out at the end of
the season for the land of Paganini and Julius Caesar.

Two nights before their departure, Lady Erpingham gave a farewell party to
her more intimate acquaintance. Saville, who always contrived to be well
with every one who was worth the trouble it cost him, was of course among
the guests. Years had somewhat scathed him since he last appeared on our
stage. Women had ceased to possess much attraction for his jaded eyes:
gaming and speculation had gradually spread over the tastes once directed
to other pursuits. His vivacity had deserted him in great measure, as
years and infirmity began to stagnate and knot up the current of his
veins; but conversation still possessed for and derived from him its
wonted attraction. The sparkling jeu d'esprit had only sobered down into
the quiet sarcasm; and if his wit rippled less freshly to the breeze of
the present moment, it was coloured more richly by the glittering sands
which rolled down from the experience that over shadowed the current. For
the wisdom of the worldly is like the mountains that, sterile without,
conceal within them unprofitable ore: only the filings and particles