dear fellow,” said Sheringham, evidently confused, “I—­I—­never chimed in; my uncle certainly pointed out the possibility to which you allude, but that was merely contingent upon what he could not refuse to do.”—­“Sheringham,” said I, “your uncle has already secured for you the promotion, and you will be gazetted for the lieutenant-colonelcy of your regiment on Tuesday.  I am not to be told that you called at the Horse-guards, in your way to your uncle’s yesterday, to ascertain the correctness of the report of the vacancy which you had received from your friend Macgregor; or that you, elated by the prospect before you, were the person, in fact, to suggest the arrangement which has been made, and promise your uncle ‘to smooth me over’ for the present.”—­“Sir,” said Sheringham, “where you picked up this intelligence I know not; but I must say, that such mistrust, after years of undivided intimacy, is not becoming, or consistent with the character which I hitherto supposed you to possess.  When by sinister means the man we look upon as a friend descends to be a spy upon our actions, confidence is at an end, and the sooner our intercourse ceases, the better.  Without some such conduct, how could you become possessed of the details upon which you have grounded your opinion of my conduct?”—­“I—­,” and here again was a temptation to confess and fall; but I had not the courage to do it.  “Suffice it, Major Sheringham, to say, I knew it; and, moreover, I know, that when you leave me, your present irritation will prompt you to go to your uncle and check the disposition he feels at this moment to serve me.”—­“This is too much, sir,” said Sheringham; “this must be our last interview, unless indeed your unguarded conduct towards me, and your intemperate language concerning me, may render one more meeting necessary; and so, sir, here ends our acquaintance.”—­Saying which, Sheringham, whose friendship even to my enlightened eye was nearly as sincere as any other man’s, quitted my room, fully convinced of my meanness and unworthiness; my heart sank within me when I heard the door close upon him for the last time.  I now possessed the power I had so long desired, and in less than an hour had lost a valued friend and a faithful servant.  Nevertheless, Barton had told me a falsehood, and Sheringham was gazetted on the Tuesday night.

* * * * *

I went into the Water-colour Exhibition at Charing-cross; there I heard two artists complimenting each other, while their hearts were bursting with mutual envy.  There, too, I found a mild, modest-looking lady, listening to the bewitching nothings of her husband’s particular friend; and I knew, as I saw her frown and abruptly turn away from him with every appearance of real indignation, that she had at that very moment mentally resolved to elope with him the following night.  In Harding’s shop I found authors congregated “to laugh the sultry hours away,” each watching to catch his