* Subtility and craft have taken possession of my heart; but under this habit one exhibits both shrewdness and wit. IT was a fine morning in July, when a gentleman who had arrived in town the night before--after an absence from England of several years--walked slowly and musingly up the superb thoroughfare which connects the Regent’s park with St. James’s. He was a man, who, with great powers of mind, had wasted his youth in a wandering vagabond kind of life, but who had worn away the love of pleasure, and began to awaken to a sense of ambition. “It is astonishing how this city is improved,” said he to himself. “Everything gets on in this world with a little energy and bustle--and everybody as well as everything. My old cronies, fellows not half so clever as I am, are all doing well. There’s Tom Stevens, my very fag at Eton--snivelling little dog he was too!--just made under-secretary of state. Pearson, whose longs and shorts I always wrote, is now head-master to the human longs and shorts of a public school--editing Greek plays, and booked for a bishopric. Collier, I see by the papers, is leading his circuit--and Ernest Maltravers (but _he_ had some talent) has made a name in the world. Here am I, worth them all put together, who have done nothing but spend half my little fortune in spite of all my economy. Egad, this must have an end. I must look to the main chance; and yet, just when I want his help the most, my worthy uncle thinks fit to marry again. Humph--I’m too good for this world.” While thus musing, the soliloquist came in direct personal contact with a tall gentleman, who carried his head very high in the air, and did not appear to see that he had nearly thrown our abstracted philosopher off his legs. “Zounds, sir, what do you mean?” cried the latter. “I beg your par--” began the other, meekly, when his arm was seized, and the injured man exclaimed, “Bless me, sir, is it indeed _you_ whom I see?” “Ha!--Lumley?” “The same; and how fares it, any dear uncle? I did not know you were in London. I only arrived last night. How well you are looking!” “Why, yes, Heaven be praised, I am pretty well.” “And happy in your new ties? You must present me to Mrs. Templeton.” “Ehem,” said Mr. Templeton, clearing his throat, and with a slight but embarrassed smile, “I never thought I should marry again.” “_L’homme propose et Dieu dispose_,” observed Lumley Ferrers; for it was he. “Gently, my dear nephew,” replied Mr. Templeton, gravely; “those phrases are somewhat sacrilegious; I am an old-fashioned person, you know.” “Ten thousand apologies.” “_One_ apology will suffice; these hyperboles of phrase are almost sinful.” “Confounded old prig!” thought Ferrers; but he bowed sanctimoniously. “My dear uncle, I have been a wild fellow in my day; but with years comes reflection; and under your guidance, if I may hope for it, I trust to grow a wiser and a better man.”