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never lose the mournful idea, that, but for his own hastiness, the catastrophe might have been avoided. The thought disabled him from all exertion for many weeks, and he often gave to his friend tears, which fell frequent and fast, long after the funeral, when, as assistantmourner, he accompanied Beaufort's father, who followed his unhappy son to, what we may call, his self-dug grave. Though the event possessed so entirely the character of a rencounter of passion on both sides, that Mr. Brudenel, the survivor, was almost instantly acquitted of all penalty; yet he seemed so advisedly, as well as so determinedly, to have provoked the quarrel, that Wentworth ever afterward characterized it as a murder, perpetrated in party rage.

We know not what reason there might be in this; but, strange to say, the sacrifice which Beaufort had made of himself, far from saving his memory at the moment, only gave occasion for the vileness and blackness of bad spirits to show themselves. It was even more than ever reported in the world, that this high-souled man had actually entered into a treaty with Lord Oldcastle, to quit his party, and join the ministry's ranks, for the reward of high office to himself, and promotion in the peerage for his father. And this false colouring continued so long to gain ground, that De Vere often ürged it in his arguments, both with Dr. Herbert and Wentworth, on the cruel injustice of party spirit.

In truth, the best of party men are too prone to attribute bad motives to their antagonists; the worst, too happy to assimilate those antagonists to themselves. The one think to run their adversaries down by it; the others to raise themselves up to a level with their superiors.

Was it

Beaufort was by all confessed the most powerful man of talents in the opposition, next to his friend. nothing, then, to Lord Oldcastle, that the world believed, without any actual misrepresentation from his lordship, that in opposing him Beaufort was not sincere? He was supposed by some to have changed sides for the promise of power. Was it nothing for such a man as Clayton to favour such a supposition? The parvenu basked under such authority.

But a truce to this heart-sickening proof of the proneness of God's creatures to tear one another to pieces in the arena of ambition. Let those who have passed

through rude donatus, and are recovered from this spirit, -still more, let those who have never known it, but spent their hours in the innocence of the shade, enjoy their better fortune, and be thankful.

CHAPTER III.

HEALING.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?

SHAKSPEARE.

THE Conduct of Wentworth and that of De Vere were differently operated upon by the tragic story we have related. The personal acquaintance of De Vere with Beaufort was not such as to occasion a disabling paroxysm of grief. He therefore was free, as well as disposed, to join in the discussions, little favourable to the public men of the day, which this untimely death occasioned. It did no good to his now nurtured disgust at the character of the times. By degrees he relaxed from his eagerness in the loud investigation which prevailed; but he buried the event, together with all its concomitant circumstances, deep in his heart. There they became objects of silent but unceasing meditation.

On the other hand, Wentworth at first shut himself up, without being able to utter a complaint.

When he emerged, he took an early opportunity of pronouncing a merited eulogy upon the friend whom the country, as well as himself, had lost; and when he came to the calumnious reports we have mentioned, he boldly charged them upon those who, he said, had sought to blacken his friend's reputation, because they had been unable to gain him.

The partisans of the minister answered but feebly, and Wentworth thundered in reply. He pointed to many who were in mourning for Beaufort, on both sides of the House, and asked if they would allow his injured memory to sleep unrevenged? Those really innocent of what he so boldly imputed were intimidated by his vehemence; while the tale-bearers, and those who had dabbled in the intrigue, were uneasy in their seats, and

some of them left the House. Clayton, in particular, said it had been a most unpleasant evening; and though Lord Oldcastle was certainly innocent of the charge, the supper afterward at that nobleman's was constrained and silent.

The subject was not soon abandoned by Wentworth, but excited him during much of the remainder of the session, till the fever of his mind communicated itself to his body, which sunk under it. He fell, indeed, into a deep and prolonged melancholy, which ended in his becoming dangerously ill. During this, and while slowly recovering, he saw few but Herbert and De Vere, who worked upon him in different ways; the president persuading him to plunge deeper than ever into business; De Vere, to abandon it altogether. For once the younger counsellor prevailed, but not without the assistance of Wentworth's physician, who advised diversion, and a life as different as possible from that to which he had been accustomed.

"It is not merely a change of scene which I recommend," said Dr. Wilmot, "but a total change, if it can be made, of all habits and pursuits, and even, if possible, of the mind itself. I would not only turn you out of doors, but leave you there barefoot, to shift for yourself, without horse, or coach, and nothing but a wallet, or a knapsack. What say you, for example, to a walk over Switzerland?"

"Time was," answered Wentworth, "when such a proposal might have had its attractions. I believe I had once romance as well as elasticity of limb sufficient for it. Such things must now be left to De Vere."

De Vere, who was present, caught at this, for he had himself walked over some parts of Switzerland.

"Come," said Dr. Wilmot, "at six-and-thirty one is not positively worn out; and perhaps I might allow you a horse."

"You must make me forget too many things," observed Wentworth, sighing, "before I can enjoy such a scheme. I once, indeed, remember a very happy time-" and he stopped.

"Proceed," said the observing Wilmot.

"I only mean," replied Wentworth, "happy, because the print of every thing was new.-I represented to myself things and men as I thought they should be and they always seemed to be what I represented them. ▾

De Vere grew remarkably attentive.

"And have twelve or fourteen years destroyed all this?" asked Wilmot.

"Pretty well; considering where I have passed them."

"You are still an invalid," said the doctor, "and I refuse you as a judge. Our young friend here will decide differently."

"He is a great deal worse than I," returned Wentworth, smiling.

Doctor Wilmot stared. "I shall set you both down," cried he, "as patients for a very different atmosphere than Switzerland, and send you to Monroe."

"Yet I am for the tour," said De Vere; "only, as we have both seen Switzerland, I venture to propose a less known region in the Pyrenees, and offer myself as a companion."

"The Pyrenees let it be," replied Wilmot, "though I do not think I shall let you go; for you are not fit associates to put one another in good-humour with the world."

"But if the world is so good, will it not do that for itself?"

"I grant you," replied the doctor, perceiving that he was caught. "Air and exercise, however, diversion and removal from the passing scene, are often necessary in the best of worlds."

"If I am to go, I care not how soon," said Wentworth.

Where parties are so willing, a treaty is easily made; and one early morning at the end of May, while, after a long and a tumultuous debate, which had lasted nine hours, the speaker was in the very act of putting the question, to a House worn out with fatigue and want of sleep, the ex-minister was seen with De Vere, sallying over Westminster Bridge, on their way to Dover. Wentworth, had indeed, been with difficulty restrained from pushing himself into the thickest of the debate, which was upon a question of foreign policy, vital to the country, and which he admirably understood. Wilmot, who sincerely loved as well as admired his patient, was forced to act with all the despotism of his profession to prevent it. He spoke with the authority of a man who held in his hands the destinies of life and death, and pronounced the latter without escape if he was disobeyed,

"I would exact a promise from you," added he, “that you would not stir from home this evening, but I know you will not keep it."

Mr. Wentworth looked surprised.

"Nay, I don't mind looks," said the doctor; "I have had too many party patients not to know that I am right. So if you think yourself obliged to me, I tell you what you shall do; instead of a fee, you shall give me a dinner, and I will give up my patients for the evening."

As he had all the cultivation of his profession, that is, nearly all the most agreeable parts of science, which he dealt out most agreeably in conversation, and moreover exceeded all of his order in what is called bonhommie, his proposal was gladly accepted by his distinguished patient, whom he watched almost to bed, and dismissed, after exacting his solemn promise that he would start, if possible, with the lark the next morning.

Dr. Wilmot was in fact a sagacious observer of what he called cases of human nature, and particularly cases of ambition, combining, as he said they did, so much food for moral as well as professional meditation. They ended, he observed, often in insanity, to which they tended as violently, he thought, as those of the other great passion,-love itself. This opinion he had formed from ample observation in the career of his duty as a visiter of the lunatic establishments of the metropolis; and the only difference he found in the influence of these all-absorbing passions was, that the cases of madness from ambition were most prevalent in males, those of love in females.

A person like Dr. Wilmot was, upon the whole, perhaps the best friend, as well as the best medical adviser, Mr. Wentworth could have had. And here let us not refuse to pay a tribute to this most amiable profession, which it deserves beyond all others; that it contributes (and, indeed, cannot be exercised in perfection without it) to the moral happiness as well as the bodily sanity of mankind. Other professions have their evident importance, and, from requiring all the great virtues, are rewarded with wealth and honour. But none, like this, winds itself into an intimacy with the secret heart of man, and thus obtains his confidence, and acquires his love. Indeed it must be so, since perhaps half our diseases spring from mind; and the cure of these de

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