All this time, where, it may be asked, was the Earl of Trimmerstone? Where, indeed! Every where but where he ought to be. Not having the fear of old John Martindale’s will before his eyes; either forgetting what the old gentleman had threatened, or flattering himself that the language of the will would be altered, he did not for any great length of time abstain from the indulgence of gaming; and though he was by no means a desperate gamester, setting his life on the cast of a die, yet he could not live comfortably without the stimulus; and he did not like to be called a methodist. He still kept horses at Newmarket, but not in his own name. His patriotism was still so great, that for the pure purpose of training up a breed of horses which may make the English cavalry the glory of the world, he continued to dawdle away his time with stable-boys, and lose his money to sharpers. He gamed elsewhere as well as at Newmarket; and sometimes he was a winner. He kept up but little intercourse with his opulent relative; for he was not able to give a very good account of himself. He had taken his seat in the House of Lords, but he had not much distinguished himself as an orator or a voter; for he had once been so careless as to give a proxy against ministers: he apologised for it afterwards, and promised to be more careful for the future. He was grievously negligent of home, and thought that to be the most melancholy hour of the twenty-four, in which having nothing else to do, and no where else to go, he was almost necessitated to return to his own home. We have not described this noble Earl as an ill-tempered or churlish man: he was indeed rather good-humored than otherwise; but his habits and pursuits had rendered him exceedingly anti-domestic. He never spoke a word of a harsh nature to his Countess; and even when he had lost at play, which happened more frequently than the reverse, he did not swear, stamp, or rave; nor was he moody and melancholy; but he would walk restlessly about the house with his hands in his pockets, whistling or humming odds and ends of old songs. When he was a winner, his raptures were not great, and he kept his joys to himself in silent meditation. Thus much for vindication of his behaviour in the married state may be said for him, that he did not deport himself very differently in marriage and in courtship. He had never been a very ardent or attentive lover; and no expectations were therefore raised by the lover’s attentions to be frustrated by the husband’s neglect. He suffered some disappointment indeed in the gratifications derived from exalted rank. He found himself of no more consequence or importance now that he was a noble Earl, than when he was simply and plainly Mr. Martindale; and though this disappointment did not sour his temper, it rendered him still more negligent and careless. Such was the stimulus that his mind required, that he suffered himself not unfrequently to be led into