grees," to rich young men, with or without ancestors; and accordingly she looked upon Dr Spleen Harris as now her own property, to be disposed of, in this way, to the best advantage. She sighed to think how much Lady Amelia was out of the question-so much indeed, that she could not even have the refusing of him.

CHAPTER IV.

I found a direful prediction stretching from the top of the page to the bottom. Through the whole month, expect much rain-about this time.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

THERE are many people who can occupy themselves at home, in spite of wind and weather, and, with the various duties of their own domain, defy the inroads of that gigantic reptile, ennui. But to enjoy other people's pleasures-to be busy about other people's affairs-to be interested from morning to night in other people's mansions—is not so easy, neither is it so pleasant. This Dr Spleen Harris felt, after sitting two tedious days in the library of Roe Park, listening to the incessant pitter-patter of the rain. He possessed not a mind so amply stored with knowledge, or so richly endowed with variety of power, as to find endless amusement in its own capacities; nor was he composed of that passive vegetable matter, which takes root in any soil, and flourishes in any clime. He had always been accustomed to be occupied, and to have an end in that occupation-the earning of

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his daily bread; and he felt profoundly how difficult it was all of a sudden to have his habits transformed into those of an idle, easy, indolent, independent gentleman.

Sir Philip Hum possessed fully as much mind as Dr Spleen Harris, and was naturally as liable to feel the disquietudes arising from want of food to fill its endless cravings; but he had one great advantage over the Doctor; he had been accustomed and educated to be an idle gentleman, and found a pleasure in reading for his amusement, which cannot be entered into by those who read merely for instruction, or to qualify themselves for a particular profession. There was, to be sure, society in the house; they were all vastly pleasant people; but Dr Spleen Harris thought them all vastly tiresome-the gentlemen always yawning, reading, or sleeping-the ladies always working, smiling, and singing—the whole air breathed insipidity. Sir Philip Hum's sensations were much more agreeable; he was beginning to fall in love, though not quite so bereft of his senses as to render him insensible to the weather. If the impenetrable clouds would but break up-if the ethereal blue would but again appear, how would they all burst again into action; the horses, the hounds, the guns, again come into play!

"If I were to remain long in this state," said

Dr Spleen Harris to himself, "I must inevitably become either a gamester or a gourmand. What an inexpressible relief to my feelings is the blessed sound of the gong at six o'clock !-Fretbeef is an excellent cook-the meat perhaps a little underdone. What a dreadful situation would be ours at present, if such a person presided over the commissaryship of this castle, as my old torment, Betty Reeky!—Then adieu even to the low pleasures of

sense."

Even Dr Spleen Harris felt that there were pleasures the ennobled mind could enjoy, "far above the vulgar joys that move our gross desires, inelegant and low;" and even situated as he was, he would have blushed to have revealed some of his musings. He was tired of the company, and tired of himself; he could not help wondering why Sir Philip Hum was not equally sick of their society, unless, as he began to suspect, the Baronet was a little in love with Lady Amelia. It could not be Jane Pert who attracted him-a little idle flirt, against whose views (if views she could be so presumptuous as to form) Dr Spleen Harris was upon his guard.

The Doctor knew little of love from his own experience; but he had always heard it described as giving wings to what otherwise would have proved leaden moments, and enabling its votaries to

breathe a second spring, even in the dull, damp, easterly mists that darken the close of the year.

"Sir Philip Hum must certainly be in love," said Dr Spleen Harris to himself, " else he certainly would have proposed to me what has been at the tip of my tongue to suggest to him-to cut and run.'

Lady Amelia was not in the room-Lady Maria and the Marchioness were playing at bagatelle— Lady Jane was writing out a bit of music-Jane Pert was working a bead-purse, and endeavouring, by her chatter, to amuse Sir Philip Hum; but he was evidently thinking of something else, and whenever the door opened, seemed to expect the entrance of some more agreeable personage.

"I see how the land lies now," said Spleen Harris,—“ love is like a giddiness; it will not let an honest man go about his business."

The wind and rain continued to batter on the window, and ennui to steal o'er the mind of Spleen Harris. Something must be done-an exertion must be made. He took up the county newspapers. The Dintherout theatre attracted his attention. A change of place, a change of scene, could surely prove no worse than a change of pain; and he ventured to propose, that, by way of a little amusement in this dreary weather, they should go next day, which was Saturday, to Dintherout, the