“You, charming Princess, have tact; but you have beauty, wit, fascination, rank,--all that can grace high station, and all that high station can reflect upon great natural gifts; that _you_ should see the world through a rose-tinted medium is a very condition of your identity; and there is truth, as well as good philosophy, in this view! You have often told me that if people were not exactly all that strict moralists might wish, yet that they made up a society very pleasant and livable withal, and that there was also a floating capital of kindness and good feeling quite sufficient to trade upon, and even grow richer by negotiating! “People who live out of the world, or, what comes to the same thing, in a little world of their own, are ever craving after perfectibility,--just as, in time of peace, nations only accept in their armies six-foot grenadiers and gigantic dragoons. Let the pressure of war or emergency arise, however, or, in other words, let there be the real business of life to be done, then the standard is lowered at once, and the battle is sought and won by very inferior agency. Now, show troops and show qualities are very much alike; they are a measure of what would be very charming to arrive at, were it only practicable! Oh that poor Glencore had only learned this lesson, instead of writing nonsense verses at Eton! “The murky domesticities of England have no correlatives in the sunny enjoyments of Italian life; and John Bull has got a fancy that virtue is only cultivated where there are coal fires, stuff curtains, and a window tax. Why, then, in the name of Doctors' Commons, does he marry a foreigner?” Just as Upton had written these words, his servant presented him with a visiting-card. “Lord Glencore!” exclaimed he, aloud. “When was he here?” “His Lordship is below stairs now, sir. He said he was sure you'd see him.” “Of course; show him up at once. Wait a moment; give me that cane, place those cushions for my feet, draw the curtain, and leave the aconite and ether drops near me,--that will do, thank you.” Some minutes elapsed ere the door was opened; the slow footfall of one ascending the stairs, step by step, was heard, accompanied by the labored respiration of a man breathing heavily; and then Lord Glencore entered, his form worn and emaciated, and his face pale and colorless. With a feeble, uncertain voice, he said,-- “I knew you 'd see me, Upton, and I would n't go away!” And with this he sank into a chair and sighed deeply. “Of course, my dear Glencore, you knew it,” said the other, feelingly, for he was shocked by the wretched spectacle before him; “even were I more seriously indisposed than--” “And were you really ill, Upton?” asked Glencore, with a weakly smile. “Can you ask the question? Have you not seen the evening papers, read the announcement on my door, seen the troops of inquirers in the streets?”