_ CHAPTER III
When our hero arrived in London, and when he was first introduced into fashionable society, his thoughts were so intent upon Selina Sidney, that he was in no danger of plunging into dissipation. He was surprised at the eagerness with which some young men pursued frivolous pleasures: he was still more astonished at seeing the apathy in which others of his own age were sunk, and the listless insignificance in which they lounged away their lives.
The call of the house, which brought Vivian to town, brought Lord Glistonbury also to attend his duty in the house of peers: with his lordship's family came Mr. Russell, whom Vivian went to see, as soon and as often as he could. Russell heard, with satisfaction, the indignant eloquence with which his friend spoke; and only wished that these sentiments might last, and that fashion might never lead him to imitate or to tolerate fools, whom he now despised.
"In the mean time, tell me how you go on yourself," said Vivian; "how do you like your situation here, and your pupil, and all the Glistonbury family? Let me behind the scenes at once; for, you know, I see them only on the stage."
Russell replied, in general terms, that he had hopes Lord Lidhurst would turn out well, and that therefore he was satisfied with his situation; but avoided entering into particulars, because he was a confidential person in the family. He thought that a preceptor and a physician were, in some respects, bound, by a similar species of honour, to speak cautiously of the maladies of their patients, or the faults of their pupils. Admitted into the secrets of families, they should never make use of the confidence reposed in them, to the disadvantage of any by whom they are trusted. Russell's strictly honourable reserve upon this occasion was rather provoking to Vivian, who, to all his questions, could obtain only the dry answer of--"Judge for yourself."--The nature of a town life, and the sort of intercourse which capital cities afford, put this very little in Vivian's power. The obligations he was under to Lord Glistonbury for assistance at the election made him anxious to show his lordship respect and attention; and the sort of intimacy which that election had brought on was, to a certain degree, kept up in town. Lady Mary Vivian was constantly one at Lady Glistonbury's card parties; and Vivian was frequently at his lordship's dinners. Considering the coldness and formality of Lady Glistonbury's manners, she was particularly attentive to Lady Mary Vivian; and our hero was continually an attendant upon the ladies of the Glistonbury family to all public places. This was by no means disagreeable to him, as they were persons of
high consideration; and they were sure of drawing into their circle the very best company. Lady Mary Vivian observed that it was a great advantage to her son to have such a house as Lord Glistonbury's open to him, to go to whenever he pleased. Besides the advantage to his morals, her ladyship was by no means insensible to the gratification her pride received from her son's living in such high company. The report which had been raised in the country during the election, that Mr. Vivian was going to be married to Lady Sarah Lidhurst, now began to circulate in town. This was not surprising, since a young man in London, of any fortune or notoriety, can hardly dance three or four times successively with the same young lady, cannot even sit beside her, and converse with her in public half a dozen times, without its being reported that he is going to be married to her. Of this, Vivian, during his noviciate in town, was not perhaps sufficiently aware: he was soon surprised at being asked, by almost every one he met, when his marriage with Lady Sarah Lidhurst was to take place. At first he contented himself with laughing at these questions, and declaring that there was no truth in the report: but his asseverations were not to be believed; they were attributed to motives of discretion: he was told by his companions, that he kept his own counsel very well; but they all knew
the thing was to be: he was congratulated upon his good fortune in making such an excellent match; for though, as they said, he would have but little money with Lady Sarah, yet the connexion was so great, that he was the luckiest fellow upon earth. The degree of importance which the report gave him among the young men of his acquaintance, and the envy he excited, amused and gratified his vanity. The sort of conversation he was now in the constant habit of hearing, both from young and old, in all companies, about the marriages of people in the fashionable world, where fortune, and rank, and
connexion, were always the first things spoken of or considered, began insensibly to influence Vivian's mode of speaking, if not of judging. Before he mixed in this society, he knew perfectly well that these were the principles by which
people of the world are guided; but whilst he had believed this only on hearsay, it had not appeared to him so entirely true and so important as when he saw and heard it himself. The effect of the opinions of a set of fine people, now he was actually in their society, and whilst all other society was excluded from his perception, was very different from what he had imagined it might be, when he was in the country or at college. To do our hero justice, however, he was sensible of this
aberration in his own mind, he had sense enough to perceive from what causes it arose, and steadiness sufficient to adhere to the judgements he had previously and deliberately formed. He did not in material points change his opinion of his mistress; he thought her far, far superior to all he saw and heard amongst the belles who were most admired in the fashionable world; but, at the same time, he began to agree with his mother's former wish, that Selina, added to all other merits, had the advantage of high birth and connexions, or at least, of belonging to a certain class of high company. He determined that, as soon as she should be his wife, he would have her introduced to the very
first society in town: he pleased his imagination with anticipating the change that would be made in her appearance, by the addition of certain elegancies of the mode: he delighted in thinking of the sensation she would produce, and the respect that would be paid to her as Mrs. Vivian, surrounded as he would take care that she should be, with all those external signs of wealth and fashion, which command immediate and universal homage from the great and little world.
One day, when Vivian was absorbed in these pleasing reveries, Russell startled him with this question: "When are you to be married to Lady Sarah Lidhurst?"
"From you such a question!" said Vivian.
"Why not from me? It is a question that every body asks of me, because I am your intimate friend; and I should really be obliged to you, if you would furnish me with an answer, that may give me an air of a little more consequence than that which I have at present, being forced to answer, 'I don't know.'"
"You don't know! but why do not you answer, 'Never!' as I do," said Vivian, "to all the fools who ask me the same question?"
"Because they say that is your answer, and only
a come off."
"I can't help it--Is it my fault if they won't believe the truth?"
"Why, people are apt to trust to appearances in these cases; and if appearances are contrary to your assertions, you should not wonder that you are not believed."
"Well, time will show them their mistake!" said Vivian.--But I don't know what appearances you mean.--What appearances are against me?--I never in my life saw a woman I was less disposed to like--whom it would be more impossible for me to love--than Lady Sarah Lidhurst; and I am sure I never gave her, or any of her family, the least reason to imagine I had a thought of her."
"Very likely; yet you are at Lord Glistonbury's continually, and you attend her ladyship to all public places. Is this the way, do you think, to put a stop to the report that has been raised?"
"I care not whether it stops or goes on," said Vivian.--"How!--Don't I know it is false?--That's enough for me."
"It may embarrass you yet," said Russell.
"Good Heavens!--Can you, who know me so well, Russell, fancy me so weak as to be embarrassed by such a report? Look--I would rather put this hand into that fire and let it be burned off, than offer it to Lady Sarah Lidhurst."
"Very likely.--I don't doubt you think so," said Russell.
"And I would do so," said Vivian.
"Possibly.--Yet you might be embarrassed nevertheless, if you found that you had raised expectations which you could not fulfil; and if you found yourself accused of having jilted this lady, if all her friends were to say you had used her very ill.--I know your nature, Vivian; these things would disquiet you very much: and is it not better to prevent them?"
"But neither Lady Sarah nor her friends blame me: I see no signs in the family of any of the thoughts or feelings you suppose."
"Ladies--especially young and fashionable ladies--do not always show their thoughts or feelings," said Russell.
"Lady Sarah Lidhurst has no thoughts or feelings," said Vivian, "any more than an automaton. I'll answer for her--I am sure I can do her the justice to proclaim, that she has always, from the first moment I saw her till this instant, conducted herself towards me with the same petrified and petrifying propriety."
"I do not know what
petrified propriety exactly means," said Russell: "but let it mean what it may, it is nothing to the present purpose; for the question is not about the propriety of Lady Sarah Lidhurst's conduct, but of yours. Now, allowing you to call her ladyship a petrifaction, or an automaton, or by whatever other name you please, still, I apprehend, that she is in reality a human creature, and a woman; and I conceive it is the duty of a man of honour or honesty not to deceive her."
"I would not deceive her, or any woman living, upon any account," said Vivian. "But how is it possible I can deceive her, when I tell you I never said a word about love or gallantry, or any thing like it, to her in my life?"
"But you know language is conventional, especially in gallantry," said Russell.
"True; but I'll swear the language of my looks has been unequivocal, if that is what you mean."
"Not exactly: there are certain signs by which the world JUDGES in these cases--if a gentleman is seen often with the same lady in public."
"Absurd, troublesome, ridiculous signs, which would put a stop to all society; which would prevent a man from conversing with a woman, either in public or private; and must absolutely preclude one sex from obtaining any real knowledge of the characters and dispositions of the other."
"I admit all you say--I feel the truth of it--I wish this were changed in society; it is a great inconvenience, a real evil," said Russell: "but an individual cannot alter a custom; and, as you have not, by your own account, any particular interest in becoming more intimately acquainted with the character and disposition of Lady Sarah Lidhurst, you will do well not to expose yourself to any inconvenience on her account, by neglecting common received forms and opinions."
"Well! well!--say no more about it," said Vivian, impatiently; "spare me all farther logic and morality upon this subject, and I'll do what you please--only tell me what you would have me do."
"Gradually withdraw yourself for some time from this house, and the report will die away of itself."
"Withdraw myself!--that would be very hard upon me!" cried Vivian; "for this house is the most agreeable house in town to me;--because you live in it, in the first place; and then, though the women are as stiff as pokers, one is always sure of meeting all the pleasant and clever men at Glistonbury's good dinner. Let me tell you, good dinners, and good company, and good conversation, and good music, make altogether a very pleasant house, which I should be confoundedly sorry to be forced to give up."
"I don't doubt it," said Russell; "but we must often give up more even than this for the sake of acting with consistency and honour; we must sacrifice the less to the greater good; and it is on these occasions that people show strength or weakness of mind."
Vivian felt the justice of his friend's observations--resolved to follow his advice--and to withdraw himself gradually from the Glistonbury circle. He had not, however, steadiness enough to persist in this resolution; one engagement linked on another; and he would soon, probably, have relapsed into his habit of being continually of their parties, if accident had not for a time suspended this intimacy, by leading him into another, which seemed to him still more attractive.
Among the men of talents and political consequence whom he met at Lord Glistonbury's was Mr. Wharton, whose conversation particularly pleased Vivian, and who now courted his acquaintance with an eagerness which was peculiarly flattering. Vivian knew him only as a man of great abilities; with his real character he was not acquainted. Wharton had prepossessing manners, and wit sufficient whenever he pleased to make the worse appear the better reason. In private or in public debate he had at his command, and could condescend to employ, all sorts of arms, and every possible mode of annoyance, from the most powerful artillery of logic to the lowest squib of humour. He was as little nice in the company he kept as in the style of his conversation. Frequently associating with fools, and willing even to be thought one, he made alternately his sport and advantage of the weakness and follies of mankind. Wharton was philosophically, politically, and fashionably profligate. After having ruined his private fortune by unbounded extravagance, he lived on--nobody knew how--in careless profusion. In public life he made a distinguished figure; and seemed, therefore, to think himself raised above the necessity of practising any of the minor virtues of economy, prudence, or justice, which common people find essential to their well-being in society. Far from attempting to conceal, he gloried in his faults; for he knew full well, that as long as he had the voice of numbers with him, he could bully, or laugh, or shame plain reason and rigid principle out of countenance. It was his grand art to represent good sense as stupidity, and virtue as hypocrisy. Hypocrisy was, in his opinion, the only vice which merited the brand of infamy; and from this he took sufficient care to prove, or at least to proclaim, himself free. Even whilst he offended against the decencies of life, there seemed to be something frank and graceful in his manner of throwing aside all disguise. There appeared an air of superior liberality in his avowing himself to be governed by that absolute selfishness, which other men strive to conceal even from their own hearts. He dexterously led his acquaintance to infer that he would prove as much better than his professions, as other people are often found to be worse than theirs. Where he wished to please, it was scarcely possible to escape the fascination of his manner; nor did he neglect any mode of courting popularity. He knew that a good table is necessary to attract even men of wit; and he made it a point to have the very best cook, and the very best wines. He paid his cook, and his cook was the only person he did pay, in ready money. His wine-merchant he paid in words--an art in which he was a professed and yet a successful adept, as hundreds of living witnesses were ready to attest. But though Wharton could cajole, he could not attach his fellow-creatures--he had a party, but no friend. With this distribution of things he was perfectly satisfied; for he considered men only as beings who were to be worked to his purposes; and he declared that, provided he had power over their interests and their humours, he cared not what became of their hearts. It was his policy to enlist young men of talents or fortune under his banners; and consequently Vivian was an object worthy of his attention. Such was the disorder of Wharton's affairs, that either ready money or political power was necessary to his existence. Our hero could, at the same time, supply his extravagance and increase his consequence. Wharton thought that he could borrow money from Vivian, and that he might command his vote in parliament; but, to the accomplishment of these schemes, there were two obstacles--Vivian was attached to an amiable woman, and was possessed of an estimable friend. Wharton had become acquainted with Russell at Lord Glistonbury's; and, in many arguments which they had held on public affairs, had discovered that Russell was not a man who ever preferred the expedient to the right, nor one who could be bullied or laughed out of his principles. He saw also that Russell's influence over Vivian was so great, that it supplied him with that strength of mind in which Vivian was naturally deficient; and, if our hero should marry such a woman as Miss Sidney, Wharton foresaw that he should have no chance of succeeding in his designs; therefore his first objects were, to detach Vivian from his friend Russell and from Selina. One morning he called upon Vivian with a party of his friends, and found him writing.
"Poetry!" cried Wharton, carelessly looking at what he had, been writing, "poetry, I protest!--Ay, I know this poor fellow's in love; and every man who is in love is a poet, 'with a woeful ditty to his mistress's eyebrow.' Pray what colour may Miss Sidney's eyebrows be?--she is really a pretty girl--I think I remember seeing her at some races.--Why does she never come to town?--But of course she is not to blame for that, but her fortune I suppose.--Marrying a girl without a fortune is a serious thing in these expensive days; but you have fortune enough for both yourself and your wife, so you may do as you please. Well, I thank God, I have no fortune! If I had been a young man of fortune I should have been the most unhappy rascal upon earth, for I should have always suspected that every woman liked me for my wealth--I should have had no pleasure in the smiles of an angel--angels, or their mothers, are so venal now-a-days, and so fond of the pomps and vanities of this wicked world!"
"I hope," said Vivian, laughing, "you don't include the whole sex in your satire."
"No--there are exceptions--and every man has his angel of an exception, as every woman has her star:--it is well for weak women when these stars of theirs don't lead them astray; and well for weak men when these angel exceptions before marriage don't turn out very women or devils afterwards. But why do I say all this? because I am a suspicious scoundrel--I know and can't help it. If other fellows of my standing in this wicked world would but speak the truth, however, they would show as much suspicion and more than I do. Bad as I am, and such as I am, you see, and have the whole of me--nobody can say Wharton's a hypocrite; that's some comfort. But, seriously, Vivian, I don't mean to laugh at love and angels--I can just remember the time when I felt all your sort of romance--but that is in the preterpluperfect tense with me--completely past--ambition is no bad cure for love. My head is, at this present moment, so full of this new bill that we are bringing into parliament, that Cupid might empty his quiver upon me in vain.--Look! here is an impenetrable shield!" added he, wrapping round him a thick printed copy of an act of parliament. "Come, Vivian, you must come along with us to the house,
'And, mix'd with men, a man you must appear.'"
Vivian felt much ashamed of having been detected in writing a sonnet, especially as it afforded Wharton such a fine subject for raillery. He accompanied the party to the House of Commons, where Wharton made a brilliant speech. It gained universal applause. Vivian sympathized in the general enthusiasm of admiration for Wharton's talents, accepted an invitation to sup with him, and was charmed by his convivial powers. From this day, he grew every hour more intimate with Wharton.
"I can enjoy," thought Vivian, "the pleasure of his society without being influenced by his libertine example."
Lady Mary Vivian saw the rise and progress of this intimacy, and was not insensible to its danger; yet she was gratified by seeing her son distinguished by a man of Wharton's political consequence; and she satisfied her conscience by saying, "He will bring my son forward in public life; and, as to the rest, Charles has too good principles ever to follow his example in private life."
Wharton had too much address to alarm Vivian's moral prejudices on a first acquaintance. He contented himself with ridiculing only the exaggeration of any of the virtues, still affecting to believe in virtue, and to love it, wherever it could be found genuine. By the success of his first petty attacks, he learned the power that ridicule had over our hero's mind; and he did not fail to make use of it continually. After having, as he perceived, succeeded in making Vivian ashamed of his sonnet to Selina, and of appearing as a romantic lover, he doubted not but in time he should make
true love itself ridiculous; and Wharton thought it was now the moment to hazard another stroke, and to commence his attack against friendship.
"Vivian, my good fellow! why do you let yourself be ruled by that modern stoic in the form of Lord Lidhurst's tutor? I never saw any of these cold moralists who were real, warm-hearted, good friends. I have a notion I see more of Russell's play in the house where he has got than he thinks I do; and I can form a shrewd guess why he was so zealous in warning you of the report about Lady Sarah Lidhurst--he had his own snug reasons for wanting you away--Oh, trust me for scenting out self-interest, through all the doublings and windings of your cunning moralist!"
Reddening with indignation at this attack upon his friend, Vivian warmly replied, that Mr. Wharton ought to restrain his wit where the feelings of friendship and the character of a man of honour were concerned; that he did not, in the least, comprehend his insinuations with regard to Russell; but that, for his own part, he had such firm reliance upon his friend's attachment and integrity, that he was at any time ready to pledge his own honour for Russell's, and to answer for it with his life.
"Spare your heroics, my dear Vivian!" cried Wharton, laughing; "for we are not in the days of Pylades and Orestes;--yet, upon my soul, instead of being as angry with you as you are with me, at this instant I like you a thousand times the better for your enthusiastic credulity. For my part, I have, ever since I lived in the world and put away childish things, regretted that charming instinct of credulity, which experience so fatally counteracts. I envy you, my dear boy!--as to the rest, you know Russell's merits better than I do: I'll take him henceforward upon trust from you."
"Thus Wharton, finding that he was upon dangerous ground, made a timely retreat: the playful manner and open countenance with which he now spoke, and the quick transition that he made to other subjects of conversation, prevented Vivian from suspecting that any settled design had been formed to detach him from Russell. From this time forward, Wharton forbore raillery on love and friendship; and, far from seeming desirous of interfering in Vivian's private concerns, appeared quite absorbed in politics. Avowing, as he did, that he was guided solely by his interest in public life, he laughed at Vivian for professing more generous principles.
"I know," cried Wharton, "how to make use of a fine word, and to round a fine sentence, as well as the best of you; but what a simpleton he must be who is cheated by his own sophistry!--An artist, an enthusiastic artist, who is generally half a madman, might fall in love with a statue of his own making; but you never heard of a coiner, did you, who was cheated by his own bad shilling? Patriotism and loyalty are counterfeit coin; I can't be taken in by them at my time of day."
Vivian could not forbear to smile at the drollery and wit with which this profligate defended his want of integrity; yet he sometimes seriously and warmly asserted his own principles. Upon these occasions, Wharton either overpowered him by a fine flow of words, or else listened with the most flattering air of admiration, and silenced him by compliments to his eloquence. Vivian thought that he was quite secure of his own firmness; but the contagion of bad example sometimes affects the mind imperceptibly; as certain noxious atmospheres steal upon the senses, and excite the most agreeable sensations, while they secretly destroy the principles of health and life. A day was fixed when a question of importance was to come on in the House of Commons. Wharton was extremely anxious to have Vivian's vote. Vivian, according to the parliamentary phrase,
had not made up his mind on the subject. A heap of pamphlets on the question lay uncut upon his table. Every morning he resolved to read them, that he might form his judgment, and vote according to his unbiassed opinion; but every morning he was interrupted by some of the fashionable idlers whom his facility of temper had indulged in the habit of haunting him daily. "Oh, Vivian! we are going to such and such a place, and you
must come with us!" was a mode of persuasion which he could not resist.
"If I don't do as they do," thought he, "I shall be quite unfashionable. Russell may say what he pleases, but it is necessary to yield to one's companions in trifles.
'Whoever would be pleased and please,
Must do what others do with ease.'"
This couplet, which had been repeated to him by Wharton, recurred to him continually; and thus Wharton, by slight means, in which he seemed to have no interest or design, prepared Vivian for his purposes, by working gradually on the easiness of his disposition. He always argued, that it could not possibly signify what he did with an hour or two of his day, till at last Vivian found that he had no hours of his own, that his whole time was at the disposal of others; and now that he really wanted leisure to consider an important question,--when his credit, as a member of the senate, and as a man just entering political life, depended on this decision,--he literally could not command time to read over the necessary documents. So the appointed day arrived before Vivian's opinion was formed; and, from mere want of time to decide for himself, he voted as Wharton desired. Another and another political question came on; the same causes operated, and the same consequences ensued. Wharton managed with great address, so as to prevent him from feeling that he gave up his freewill. Before Vivian was aware of it, whilst he thought that he was perfectly independent of all parties, public opinion had enrolled him amongst Wharton's partisans. Of this Russell was the first to give him warning. Russell heard of it amongst the political leaders who met at Lord Glistonbury's dinners; and, knowing the danger there is of a young man's
committing himself on certain points, he, with the eagerness of a true friend, wrote immediately to put Vivian upon his guard:--
"My Dear Vivian,
"I am just going into the country with Lord Lidhurst, and perhaps may not return for some time. I cannot leave you without putting you on your guard, once more, against Mr. Wharton. I understand that you are thought to be one of his party, and that he countenances the report. Take care that you are not bound hand and foot, before you know where you are.
"Your sincere friend,
"H. Russell."
With the natural frankness of his disposition, Vivian immediately spoke to Wharton upon the subject.
"What! people say that you are one of my party, do they?" said Wharton: "I never heard this before, but I am heartily glad to hear it. You are in for it now, Vivian: you are one of us; and with us you must stand or fall."
"Excuse me there!" cried Vivian; "I am not of any party; and am determined to keep myself independent."
"Do you remember the honest Quaker's answer to the man of no party?" said Wharton.
"No."
"I think it was about the year '40, when party disputes about Whig and Tory ran high--but no matter what year, it will do for any time. A gentleman of undeviating integrity, an independent man, just such a man as Mr. Vivian, offered himself candidate for a town in the east, west, north, or south of England--no matter where, it will do for any place; and the first person whose vote he solicited was a Quaker, who asked him whether he was a Whig or Tory?--'Neither. I am an independent, moderate man; and when the members of administration are right, I will vote with them--when wrong, against them.' 'And be these really thy principles?' quoth the Quaker; 'then a vote of mine thou shalt never have. Thou seest my door, it leadeth into the street; the right hand side of which is for the Tory, the left for the Whigs; and for a cold-blooded moderate man, like thee, there is the kennel, and into it thou wilt be jostled, for thou beest not
decided enough for any other situation.'"
"But why should the moderate man be condemned to the kennel?" said Vivian. "Was there no middle to your Quaker's road? A stout man cannot be EASILY jostled into the kennel."
"Pshaw! pshaw!" said Wharton: "jesting out of the question, a man is nothing in public life, or worse than nothing, a
trimmer, unless HE JOINS a party, and unless he abides by it, too."
"As long as the party is in the right, I presume, you mean," said Vivian.
"Right or wrong'" cried Wharton, "a man must abide by his party. No power, and no popularity, trust me, without it!--Better stride on the greasy heads of the mob than be trampled under their dirtier feet. An armed neutrality may be a good thing, but an unarmed neutrality is fit only for fools. Besides, in Russell's grand style, I can bring down the ancients upon you, and tell you that when the commonwealth is in danger he cannot be a good man who sides with neither party."
"If it be so necessary to join a party, and if, after once joining it, I must abide by it, right or wrong, for life," said Vivian, "it behoves me to consider well, before I commit myself; and, before I go into the ranks, I must see good reason to confide, not only in the abilities, but in the integrity and public virtue of my leader."
"Public virtue! sounds fresh from college," said Wharton; "I would as soon, and sooner, hear a schoolboy read his theme as hear a man begin to prose about public virtue--especially a member of parliament. Keep that phrase, my dear Vivian, till some of the treasury bench come to court you; then look superb, like a French tragic actor, swelling out your chest, and throwing the head over the left shoulder--thus--exclaim, 'Public virtue forbid!'--practise! practise!--for if you do it well, it may be worth a loud huzza to you yet; or better still, a snug place or pension. But stay till you're asked--stay till you're asked--that's the etiquette; never till then let me hear public virtue come out of your lips, else you'll raise suspicion of your virtue, and lower your price. What would you think of a pretty actress who began to talk to you of her reputation before you put it in any danger? Oh, Vivian! my honest fellow! unless you would make me think you no better than thousands that have gone before you, never let me hear from your lips again, till the
proper time, the hypocritical state phrase--public virtue."
"I had always, till now, understood that it was possible to be a patriot without being a hypocrite," replied Vivian; "I always understood that Mr. Wharton was a patriot."
"A very fair sarcasm on me," said Wharton, laughing. "But you know, I'm a sad dog; never set myself up for a pattern man.--Come! let's home to dinner, and a truce with politics and morality. I find, Vivian, you're a sturdy fellow, and must have your own way; no bending, no leading you, I see. Well! it is a good thing to have so much strength of mind: I envy you."
It must be recorded to the credit of our hero, that in defiance of Wharton's raillery, he talked, and--oh! still more wonderful!--thought of public virtue, during nearly half of his first session in parliament. But, alas! whilst his political principles thus withstood the force of ridicule, temptation soon presented itself to Vivian in a new shape, and in a form so seducing, as to draw his attention totally away from politics, and to put his private, if not his public, honour, in the most imminent peril. _