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 very ingenuity prevented them from being useful. Cleveland was now seen wandering over the moors, and mountains, with a gun over his shoulder, and a couple of pointers at his heels; but ennui returned in spite of his patent percussion; and so, at length, tired of being a sportsman, he almost became what he had fancied himself in an hour of passion,—a misanthrope.

With the aid of soda-water and Mr. Sadler, Vivian had succeeded, the morning after the Cabinet-dinner, in getting the Marquess up at a tolerably early hour; and, after having been closeted with his Lordship for a considerable time, he left Château Desir.

Vivian travelled night and day, until he stopped at .—Such was the correct style of Mr. Cleveland's abode. What was he to do now? After some deliberation, he despatched a note to Mr. Cleveland, informing him, "that he (Mr. Grey) was the bearer,