SCYTHROP, attending one day the summons to dinner, found in the drawing-room his friend Mr. Cypress, the poet, whom he had known at college, and who was a great favourite of Mr. Glowry. Mr. Cypress said, he was on the point of leaving England, but could not think of doing so without a farewell look at Nightmare Abbey and his respected friends, themoody Mr. Glowry and the mysterious Mr. Scythrop, the sublime Mr. Flosky and the pathetic Mr. Listless; to all of whom, and the morbid hospitality of the melancholy dwelling, in which they were then assembled, he assured them he should always look back with as much affection as his lacerated spirit could feel for any thing. The sympathetic condolence of their respective replies was cut short by Raven's announcement of “dinner on table.”

The conversation that took place when the wine was in circulation, and the ladies were withdrawn, we shall report with our usual scrupulous fidelity.

MR. GLOWRY.

You are leaving England, Mr. Cypress. There is a delightful melancholy in saying farewell to an old acquaintance, when the chances are twenty to one against ever meeting again. A smiling bumper to a sad parting, and let us all be unhappy together.

MR. CYPRESS (filling a bumper).

This is the only social habit that the disappointed spirit never unlearns.

THE REVEREND MR. LARYNX (filling).

It is the only piece of academical learning that the finished educatee retains.

MR. FLOSKY (filling).

It is the only objective fact which the sceptic can realise.

SCYTHROP (filling).

It is the only styptic for a bleeding heart.

THE HONORABLE MR. LISTLESS (filling).

It is the only trouble that is very well worth taking.

MR. ASTERIAS (filling).

It is the only key of conversational truth.

MR. TOOBAD (filling).

It is the only antidote to the great wrath of the devil.

MR. HILARY (filling).

It is the only symbol of perfect life. The inscription HIC NON BIBITUR will suit nothing but a tomb-stone.

MR. GLOWRY.

You will see many fine old ruins, Mr. Cypress, crumbling pillars, and mossy walls—many a one-legged Venus and headless Minerva—many a Neptune buried in sand—many a Jupiter turned topsy-turvy—many a perforated Bacchus doing duty as a water-pipe—many reminiscences of the ancient world, which I hope was better worth living in than the modern; though, for myself, I care not a straw more for one than the other, and would not go twenty miles to see any thing that either could shew.