The entrance of Buchanan put a stop to this conversation. “Are you ready?” he cried. “Ready! I have waited for you three hours: it is five, and you promised to come before two.” “You would excuse me, I am sure, if you knew how excessively ill I have been. I am but this moment out of bed. That accursed hazard kept me up till ten this morning. Once, I sat two days and nights at it: but it’s no matter.” “You take no care of yourself.—I wish for my sake you would.” The manner in which Calantha said this, was most particularly flattering and kind: it was, indeed, ever so; but the return she met with (like the lady who loved the swine. “Honey,” quoth she, “thou shalt in silver salvers dine.” “Humph,” quoth he) was most uncourteous. “Truly I care not if I am knocked on the head to-morrow,” replied Buchanan. “There is nothing worth living for in life: every thing annoys me: I am sick of all society, Love, sentiment, is my abhorrence.” “But driving, dearest Buchanan,—riding,—your mother—your—your cousin.” “Oh, d..n it; don’t talk about it. It’s all a great bore.” “And can Lady Avondale endure this jargon?” “What is that Italian here again?” whispered Buchanan. “But come, let’s go. My horses must not wait, they are quite unbroke; and the boy can’t hold them. Little Jem yesterday had his ribs broke; and this youngster’s no hand. Where shall we drive?” “To perdition,” whispered Gondimar. “Can’t wait,” said Buchanan, impatiently: and Calantha hurried away. The curricle was beautiful; the horses fiery; Buchanan in high spirits; and Calantha—ah must it be confessed?—more elated with this exhibition through the crowded streets, than she could have been at the most glorious achievement. “Drive faster,—faster still,” she continually said, to shew her courage. Alas! real courage delights not in parade; but anything that had the appearance of risk or danger, delighted Calantha. “Damn it, how Alice pulls.” “Alice!” said Calantha. “Oh hang it; don’t talk of that. Here’s Will Rattle, let me speak to him; and Dick, the boxer’s son. Do you mind stopping? Not in the least.” Saying which they pulled in, as Buchanan termed it; and a conversation ensued, which amused Calantha extremely. “How soon shall you be off?” said Will Rattle, as they prepared to drive on.—“It’s a devilish bore staying in London now,” replied Buchanan: “only I’ve been commanded to stay,” saying which he smiled, and turned to Lady Avondale, “or I should have been with my regiment before this. The moment I am released, however, I shall go there.—Hope to see you to-night, Will. Mind and bring Charles Turner.—There’s a new play. Oh I forgot:—perhaps I shan’t be let off; shall I?” “No,” replied Calantha, extremely pleased at this flattering appeal. Will bowed with conceit, and off they galloped, Buchanan repeating as they went, “A damned strange fellow that—cleverer than half the people though, who make such a noise. I saved his life once in an engagement. Poor Will, he’s