"Come, get up, my good fellow, will you?" said Lord de Clifford, pushing Frederic with his stick, as one does a starfish on the seashore ; get up; I want you to take a message to a man for me."

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"N-n-no more," muttered Frederic; "the truffles are bad, and the tongue should have been roasted 'à l'Espagnol.'"

"Come, turn out, my fine fellow, and don't lie there, giving tongue like a hound," said Major Nonplus, suiting the action to the word, with an emphatic slap upon the most defenceless portion of Mr. Frederic Feedwell's person, who, mechanically applying his hand to the injured spot, exclaimed,

"Oh! take it away, take it away; it's so d-d hard I never shall be able to digest it."

Here another push from Lord de Clifford completely awoke him; and perceiving that two men were standing by his bedside, he immediately put himself " en scène," by starting up, placing his hands before his eyes, and crying out,

"M-m-Mary! Caroline! what brought you both here together?"

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Ha! ha! ha! I look very like a Caroline, truly," said Major Nonplus; so you must be the Miss Molly, my lord; but, I say, Feedwell," continued he, hooking the string of wedding rings off the table with the end of his cane, 66 how came you by this bunch of crim.

cons., eh?"

"Ah," said Frederic, with a dyspeptic sigh, "I've paid for them."

"That I'll be bound you did for every one of them," roared the major.

"That dreadful laugh," shrugged Frederic to Lord de Clifford, jerking the two fore fingers of his right hand above his head.

"Feedwell," said Lord de Clifford, "get up; I must fight to-morrow morning, or at least the next day, and you must be my second."

Now there was nothing Mr. Frederic Feedwell so much delighted in as being made a personnage of, having his name in the papers (no matter on what account), and being talked about, if it were only to be abused; so, rubbing his hands and springing out of bed, he exclaimed,

"Who is it, my d-d-dear fellow ?"

66 Oh, that d-d fellow, Cheveley."

Mr. Frederic Feedwell was a true friend, and, therefore, never missed an opportunity of infusing a little wormwood into his sweetest counsels or most sympathetic moments; consequently, he replied, as he doffed his nightcap, and donned his clothes,

"Oh, Lord Cheveley! the man who made that speech that the world has been ringing with; he certainly is the be-be-best speaker that has appeared for ages; it is to be hoped, my de-de-dear De Clifford, that he's not as good a shot as he is an orator, or you'll have no chance, you know." And up went Mr. Frederic Feedwell's two fingers, as if registering his prophecy on the ceiling. "What d-d stuff you do talk, my dear Feedwell," said Lord de Clifford; and, ringing the bell violently, added, "have you any soda-water in the house?"

"Yes, plenty; but tell me how you got into this squsqu-squabble with Lord Cheveley."

"Why, it's a foolish business altogether," replied Lord de Clifford, as he seated himself in a chair, stretched out his feet horizontally, pushed his hat over his eyes, and placed the head of his cane between his teeth; "I jostled against him coming out of the Haymarket, and telling him to get out of the way, he answered me devilish impertinently, not, of course, seeing who I was: one word brought on another, and I said he should hear from me, and there the matter rests till you go to him; but-"

"Of course, my dear fellow," stuttered Mr. Frederic Feedwell, hurrying his toilet as he spoke, and delighted in the prospect of a quarrel wherein his own personal safety was not the least endangered; "I'll go to him the first thing in the morning; but I shall be ready now in five minutes, and will walk home with you, where we can make all the necessary arrangements."

"Ay, exactly so," interposed Major Nonplus, as he poured out a large bumper of hock that had arrived with the soda-water.

"But I think," resumed Lord de Clifford, "that it might be settled in some way; for, you see, I want to speak on the Corn Laws on Thursday; and then this d-d election in two months, and altogether-not that I would make an apology, my dear Feedwell-but if you could get him to do so, you understand."

Mr. Frederic Feedwell did understand perfectly; but

being much addicted to what is vulgarly called "blowing the coals," he laughed as he replied,

"Ah! my dear fellow, 'facies tua computat annos. Lord de Clifford lowered, and rising with solemn anger from his seat, said coldly, "If you cannot be serious for one moment even on an occasion like this, I shall seek the assistance of some one else."

The amiable Frederic perceived he had gone too far; and by no means wishing to lose the support of Lord de Clifford's acquaintance, and passing in rapid review before his mind's eye the sundry dinners, and the innumerable petty squabbles that would take place in the ensuing election, he instantly changed his tone to one of friendly consideration, and said, as he placed his hand on Lord de Clifford's arm and drew him back from the door,

"My dear fellow, you quite mistake me; I only meant to say, what I always think, that I don't know so clever or so a-a-a-able a person anywhere as yourself; but we'll talk over this matter in Grosvenor-street,” casting a significant look at Major Nonplus, which said, as plainly as look could say it, "When we are not' gêné' by him."

"I think though," chimed in that worthy individual, as he paused between each mouthful of a second glass of hock, which he had taken to taste, having swallowed the first without that preliminary, "I think Lord de Clifford is quite right, that as he has a speech to make and an election coming on, there is no use in his fighting, but quite the contrary."

"I!" thundered Lord de Clifford, "I never said any such thing, sir."

"Well, then, you meant it, my dear lord, and that is the same thing."

"It is not the same thing, sir, and--and damn it, I'm going to fight, and I will fight."

"No, now, indeed, I don't think you'll have any occasion," persisted the poor one-idea'd major, pouring out a third relay of wine," for the marquis is a very gentlemanly man, and I'm sure everything will be as amicably settled as you can wish. Very sound good wine, that; in capital order, and I'm in marching order; ha! ha! ha! so good-night, good-night; I hope I shall hear that it's all right to-morrow." And securing his umbrella, ever anxious to guard against water of any kind, he departed.

That night Mr. Frederic Feedwell passed in Grosvonor-street, concocting plans with Lord de Clifford how to manage, so as to get Lord Cheveley to apologize for the insult that had been offered to himself. Accordingly, at nine the following morning, Mr. Frederic Feedwell sallied forth, and Lord de Clifford, trusting implicitly to the great Frederic's diplomacy, paced up and down his library, spouting out his intended impromptu speech on the Corn Laws.

When Mr. Feedwell arrived at Lord Cheveley's house in Carlton Gardens, he found it undergoing repair, and, therefore, had to retrace his steps to the Clarendon. 'Pray, is Lord Cheveley at home?" inquired he of the porter.

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Really can't say, sir, but I'll call his servant." Sanford appearing, the same question was put to him; and after eying the querist with that sort of supercilious "Who on earth are you?" sort of look which servants bestow on persons of not very aristocratic appearance, when they are not chartered by being on their master's or mistress's visiting list, replied,

"He is at home, sir, but his lordship's bell has not rung yet."

"Will you give him this card," said Frederic, "and say I wish to see him on particular business?"

"Perhaps you'll be so good as to wait in the drawingroom, sir, till my lord's bell rings."

"I'll ge-ge-go into the drawing-room, but will thank you to give Lord Cheveley that card immediately, as the business is pe-pe-pe-pressing."

May I ask, sir, if you come on the part of Lord de Clifford for the marquis gave orders that he was to be informed if any one came from his lordship."

"I do, and shall be much obliged by Lord Cheveley's seeing me as soon as possible."

"I'll give your message, sir, directly," said Sanford, closing the drawing-room door as Mr. Frederic Feedwell drew a chair to the open window, with a laudable curiosity to see what Bond-street looked like at half past nine in the morning: but all was like his own eyes, wide, dim, and vacant. He was beginning to weary of the similitude, as it was now a quarter past ten, when suddenly he espied Fuzboz, sitting in a sort of Sardanapalus attitude, with folded arms and slouched beaver, in the very centre of an open hack cabriolet, a blue fusVOL. II.-S

tian bag between his feet, and a half-bound quarto under his arm. He might have, and most probably had been, eating "mutton cold," as he had been confined at home for the last week with a great press of business, though he certainly had not been" cutting blocks with a razor;" for his chin, like Mr. Metcalf's tooth-brushes, was composed of "real bristles;" but Fuzboz was in the habit of "going the whole hog;" so no wonder.

"Fuzboz! Fuzboz!" cried Mr. Frederic Feedwell from the balcony, "stop one moment."

And accordingly, hearing his euphonious cognomen, Fuzboz looked up at the window from whence the sound proceeded, and ordered the driver to stop; while Mr. Frederic Feedwell, who did everything violently, rushed down stairs into the street; and, after having shaken Fuzboz's hydrophobia-looking hand, spluttered out,

"I only wanted to know at what hour I should be likely to find you at 'the Investigator' office to-day, as De-De-De Clifford is almost in for a duel with Lord Cheveley; but I've come down here to try and get him out of it. But, at all events, we must have a panegyric in the Investigator' on De Clifford whichever way the affair terminates."

"But, what? how? I mean, when did all this happen? Very odd he has not consulted me," said Fuzboz, looking leading articles at Mr. Frederic Feedwell.

"Oh, he's not had time, nor have I either, to tell you any more now; for he knocked me up at one this morning about it. But remember, my dear fellow, that Cheveley's a Te-Te-Te-Tory, and gave Lord Melford that terrible mauling about Lord Denham's business."

"Yes, yes, he shall be dealt with accordingly; but if you'll be down at half past three, and tell me all the particulars, I can better understand what's to be done, for just now I'm in a hurry too, on my way to the Moon office, to get a paragraph put in about Lady de Clifford's extravagance. Laura Priest's brother, you know, writes for the Moon; and as people are beginning to make themselves impertinently busy about some facts they have got hold of concerning De Clifford, it is necessary for us, and all his friends, to attack his wife in every covert way we can, in order to guard him against a meddling world."

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'Qu-qu-quite right, my dear fellow; so 'vale' for the present."