“I believe it to be true,” replied the earl. “That was the last time the Dean ever saw England. He went to Ireland, and, as he said, ‘commenced Irishman in earnest,’ and died very miserably. He could not be bought for money, but he could very easily be bribed with power.” “And that poor Captain Steele?” The earl’s grave face was suddenly illuminated with a smile. “Dear Dick Steele--the softest-hearted, bravest, gentlest fellow--always drunk, and always repenting. There never was so great a sermon preached on drunkenness as Dick Steele himself was. But for drink he would have been one of the happiest, as he was by nature one of the best and truest, gentlemen in the world; but he was weak, and he was, in consequence, forever miserable. Drink brought him to debts and duns and prison and rags and infamy. Ah, madam, ’twould have made your heart bleed, as it made mine, to see poor Dick reeling along the street, dirty, unkempt, his sword bent, and he scarce knowing what he was doing; and next day, at home, where his wife and children were in hunger and cold and poverty, behold him, lying in agony on his wretched bed, weeping, groaning, reproaching himself, and suffering tortures for one hour’s wicked indulgence! Then would he turn gentleman again, and for a long time be our own dear Dick Steele--his wife smiling, his children happy. I love to think on honest Dick at these times. It was then he wrote that beautiful little book, which should be in every soldier’s hands, _The Christian Hero_. We could always tell at the club whether Dick Steele were drunk or sober by Mr. Addison’s face. When Steele was acting the beast, Mr. Addison sighed often and looked melancholy all the time, and spent his money in taking such care as he could of the poor wife and children. Poor Dick! The end came at last in drunkenness and beastliness; but before he died, for a little while, he was the Dick Steele we loved, and shall ever love.” “And Mr. Pope--the queer little gentleman--who lived at Twickenham, and was so kind to his old mother?” “Mr. Pope was a very great genius, madam, and had he not been born crooked he would have been an admirable man; but the crook in his body seemed to make a crook in his mind. He died but last year, outliving many strong men who pitied his puny frame. But let me not disparage Mr. Pope. My Lord Chesterfield, who was a very good judge of men, as well as the first gentleman of his time, entertained a high esteem for Mr. Pope.”