they were far more interesting than mere idle men of pleasure. There
was about them, as features of a general family likeness, a redundant
activity of life, a gay exuberance of ambition, a light-hearted
earnestness when at work, a schoolboy's enjoyment of the hours of play.

A great contrast to these young men was Sir Sedley Beaudesert, who was
pointedly kind to me, and whose bachelor's house was always open to me
after noon: Sir Sedley was visible to no one but his valet before that
hour. A perfect bachelor's house it was, too, with its windows opening
on the Park, and sofas nicked into the windows, on which you might loll
at your ease, like the philosopher in Lucretius,--

"Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre Errare,"--

and see the gay crowds ride to and fro Rotten Row, without the fatigue
of joining them, especially if the wind was in the east.

There was no affectation of costliness about the rooms, but a wonderful
accumulation of comfort. Every patent chair that proffered a variety in
the art of lounging found its place there; and near every chair a little
table, on which you might deposit your book or your coffee-cup, without
the trouble of moving more than your hand. In winter, nothing warmer
than the quilted curtains and Axminster carpets can be conceived; in
summer, nothing airier and cooler than the muslin draperies and the
Indian mattings. And I defy a man to know to what perfection dinner may
be brought, unless he had dined with Sir Sedley Beaudesert. Certainly,
if that distinguished personage had but been an egotist, he had been the
happiest of men. But, unfortunately for him, he was singularly amiable
and kind-hearted. He had the bonne digestion, but not the other
requisite for worldly felicity,--the mauvais cceur. He felt a sincere