As Lord Spoonbill had taken up the newspaper for the purpose of finding some topic of common and meaningless talk, he held it in his hand some time, uttering his occasional comments on its infinitely various contents. Erpingham in the mean time made brief and sometimes inapplicable replies to the observations, and by degrees this desultory conversation grew less and less, and then ceased. His lordship continued reading the paper silently, and Erpingham amused himself by looking at the fire. Ever and anon did Lord Spoonbill slily and cautiously lift up his eyes from the paper, endeavouring to catch a furtive glance at his friend’s countenance in order to form, if he possibly could, some conjecture as to what might be passing in his mind. His lordship however was not by nature or habit well fitted for reading the mind through the face. After this unpleasant, and, to Lord Spoonbill unaccountable, silence had continued for some few minutes, Erpingham took the phial of laudanum, and pouring without any accurate admeasurement an apparently large quantity into a glass of cold water, deliberately drank, to the great astonishment of his lordship, a dose that indicated desperation or long practice. The right honorable one threw down the paper which he had been reading, and uttering almost a scream of astonishment, exclaimed, “Good God, Erpingham, are you mad?” The Epicurean received and answered the exclamation with a start, a frown, a laugh, and a sneer, which seemed almost simultaneous. “Mad!” echoed he; “yes, I believe I am mad.” Then with greater composure, and the manner of one in the perfect and sober possession of his senses and judgment, and as if the dose just taken had produced no effect whatever, he continued, “I believe I take rather too much; but in the use of such stimulants it is difficult to observe moderation. It is quite contrary to my theory to indulge in such a habit; but necessity has no law.” “And pray how long,” said Lord Spoonbill, “have you been accustomed to this habit? You appear to be quite a veteran.” “Not so much of a veteran as you seem to imagine,” replied Erpingham: “I have made a very rapid proficiency.” “But don’t you think it is very injurious?” asked Lord Spoonbill. “To be sure I do,” replied the Epicurean; “but who is guided in his conduct by what he thinks? I know it injures my health, I know that it must shorten my life, I know that it makes me wretched, but I must take it.” Lord Spoonbill could not understand that logic; and Erpingham had too great a contempt for his lordship’s understanding to explain it. We have too great a respect for the understanding of our readers to think that they need an explanation.