1828.) 
adventures of Sir Reginald Glanville. This 
gentleman was a schoolfellow of Pelham’s, 
remarkable for his generous qualities and 
prodigious abilities—reserved and melan- 
choly, and so, of course, now-a-days, exces- 
sively interesting—and, above all, distin- 
guished for the utter absence of selfishness, 
and eager and active benevolence—which 
qualities, as we go along, we shall find sin- 
gularly illustrated. As boys, he and Pel- 
ham had been on the most intimate terms ; 
but leaving school, Glanville goes we know 
not where, and Pelham to Cambridge—of 
which he speaks in the flippant style com- 
mon to such as, intent upon the piano and 
the billiard-table, are too idle to pursue the 
studies of the place, and to such—a very 
numerous class—as know nothing whatever 
about the matter. 
After quitting Cambridge, to while away 
the lagging hours he visits a friend in the 
country, where were assembled a large party, 
consisting of persons of more or less im- 
portance—one or two conspicuous characters 
—four or five of the unknown vulgar, good 
shots and bad matches—elderly ladies, who 
live in Baker-street, and like long whist— 
and young ones, who never take wine, and 
say ‘ Sir,” &c. In a day or two, some of 
the ladies report the appearance of an odd 
looking man, in a rough coat, with a great 
dog, who had run after them, and was called 
off by the rough-clad stranger. By-and-by 
somebody else sees a man in the church- 
yard—prostrate—then rising, and clasping 
his hands towards heaven—and accompanied 
by a great dog, who was only prostrate, and 
did not ‘clasp his paws. At last, Pelham 
himself, walking towards this same church- 
yard, sees the very same man fling himself 
upon the ground—sob audibly ; and, on his 
getting up—his hat had fallen off—in the 
broad moonlight appeared the “ noble and 
chiselled features” of his old schoolfellow,’ 
Glanville. Glanville also recognizes Pel- 
ham, and sinks with a wild cry to the earth, 
—and we have quite a scene. Pelham 
kneels by his side, and Glanville throws 
himself into his arms and weeps like a child, 
and presently starting up, escapes without 
leaving a word of explanation on this unac- 
countable conduct. 
Tired of the country and of town, Pelham 
goes to Paris, where he speedily gets into 
a quarrel ; and an Englishman, whose name 
is Thornton, of a common cast, volunteers 
his services as second. ‘This man, a day or 
two after, he meets again in the Bois de 
Boulogne, and with him—“ who could he 
be ? where had he seen that pale, but more 
than beautiful countenance ? he must be 
mistaken—the hair is of a different colour.” 
The next day, strolling into a gaming-house, 
he finds again his new acquaintance, Thorn- 
ton ; and, presently after, he observes ano- 
ther Englishman, in a rough great coat—the 
same person who had so greatly excited his 
attention the day before. He was intently 
watching a man of a swarthy complexion, 
Domestic and Foreign. 
187 
who was playing with evident anxiety; and 
never could Pelham forget the stern and fe- 
rocious expression with which the man gazed 
upon the keen and agitated features of the 
gamester. ‘In the eye and lip there was 
neither pleasure, hatred, nor scorn, in their 
simple and unalloyed elements; but each 
seemed blent and mingled into one deadly 
concentration of evil passions.” By-and- 
by, still occupied with this interesting 
stranger, he meets him again—still in the 
rough great coat—in the Jardin des Plantes. 
He was here joined by a young woman, 
meanly dressed. They exchanged a few 
words, and the young woman, taking his 
arm, turned into another path, and they 
were soon out of sight. A person of so very 
aristocratic a look, with a mistress apparently 
so humble, was another mystery. However, 
“¢ ¢ we all have our foibles,’ as the French- 
man said,’? observes Pelham, “ when he 
boiled his grandmother’s head in a pip- 
kin.”” In an hour or two he meets them 
again at a cabaret, and overhears a conver- 
sation which only throws another cloud on 
the mystery. It regarded one T'yrrel—ap- 
parently the young woman’s protector. The 
aristocrat of the rough coat demanded of her 
if the £200. Tyrrel had received was cer- 
tainly the last relic of his property; and 
upon her assurance, and expressing a hope 
that, though she was now solely devoted to 
himself, he would not suffer Tyrrel to die of 
starvation, he replied in these delectable 
terms :—“ Night and day I pray to God, 
upon my bended knees, only one unvarying, 
unceasing prayer; and that is—when the 
last agonies shall be upon that man—when 
sick with weariness, pain, disease, hunger, 
he lies down to die—when the death-gurgle 
is in the throat, and the eye swims beneath 
the last dull film—-when remembrance peo- 
ples the chamber with hell, and his cow- 
ardice would falter forth its dastard recanta- 
tion to heaven—then—may I be there !”— 
which is met by the young lady with— 
“ Spite of the stings of my remorse, as long 
as I lose not you, I will lose life, honour, 
hope, even soul itself !” 
Pelham’s curiosity is now wound up to 
the highest pitch, and he makes Thornton a 
call to pnmp him, but unsuccessfully. In 
a day or two, however, he has the good for- 
tune to mect the young woman again, ac- 
companied this time by the swarthy game- 
ster; and again—he has capital ears—he 
overhears what enables him to identify him 
with the Tyrrel of the former conversation ; 
and, finally, he again encounters Tyrrel and 
the eternal stranger at a gaming-table— 
Tyrrel playing, and the stranger glaring on 
him like a demon. ‘Tyrrel loses every far- 
thing of the £200., and they quit the house 
at the same moment. On the staircase the 
stranger stops T'yrrel, and questions him: as’ 
to his losses ; and, on T'yrrel acknowledging 
his absolute ruin, he lifts up his hand to his 
head—* Turn !”” says he; “ your cup is 
not yet full—look on me, and remember!” 
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