with the furtherance of my poor good wishes." Oh, the grimness of his
visage as he listened to this, and, I suppose I may add, the grimness of
mine! But I have ceased to be puzzled. Theodore's conduct for the past
ten days is suddenly illumined with a backward, lurid ray. I will note
down here a few plain truths which it behooves me to take to
heart--commit to memory. Theodore is jealous of Maximus Austin. Theodore
hates the said Maximus. Theodore has been seeking for the past three
months to see his name written, last but not least, in a certain
testamentary document: "Finally, I bequeath to my dear young friend,
Theodore Lisle, in return for invaluable services and unfailing
devotion, the bulk of my property, real and personal, consisting of--"
(hereupon follows an exhaustive enumeration of houses, lands, public
securities, books, pictures, horses, and dogs). It is for this that he
has toiled, and watched, and prayed; submitted to intellectual weariness
and spiritual torture; accommodated himself to levity, blasphemy, and
insult. For this he sets his teeth and tightens his grasp; for this
he'll fight. Dear me, it's an immense weight off one's mind! There are
nothing, then, but vulgar, common laws; no sublime exceptions, no
transcendent anomalies. Theodore's a knave, a hypo--nay, nay; stay,
irreverent hand!--Theodore's a _man_! Well, that's all I want. _He_
wants fight--he shall have it. Have I got, at last, my simple, natural
emotion?

21st.--I have lost no time. This evening, late, after I had heard
Theodore go to his room (I had left the library early, on the pretext of
having letters to write), I repaired to Mr. Sloane, who had not yet gone
to bed, and informed him I should be obliged to leave him at once, and
pick up a subsistence somehow in New York. He felt the blow; it brought
him straight down on his marrow-bones. He went through the whole gamut
of his arts and graces; he blustered, whimpered, entreated, flattered.