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 he was dancing them on his knee, and playing with their curls, and joining in their pretty prattle, and pressing their small and fragrant lips.

It was night when he paced down.—He passed his club; that club, to become a member of which, had once been the object of his high ambition, and to gain which privilege had cost such hours of canvassing; such interference of noble friends; and the incurring of favours from five thousand people, "which never could be forgotten."

I know not what desperate feeling actuated him, but he entered the Club-house. He walked into the great saloon, and met some fifty "most particular friends," all of whom asked him, "how the Marquess did," or "have you seen Cleveland?" and a thousand other as comfortable queries. At length, to avoid these disagreeable rencontres; and, indeed, to rest himself, he went to a smaller and more private