He had drained the cup of pleasure till it had palled in his unnerved hand.

He had looked at the Pyramids without awe, at the Alps without reverence.

He was unmoved by the sandy solitudes of the Desert as by the placid depths of Mediterranean's sea of blue.

Bitter, bitter tears did Emily de Pentonville weep, when, on Alured's return from the Continent, she beheld the awful change that dissipation had wrought in her beautiful, her blue-eyed, her perverted, her still beloved boy! "Corpo di Bacco," he said, pitching the end of his cigar on to the red nose of the Countess of Delawaddymore's coachman--who, having deposited her fat ladyship at No.

236 Piccadilly, was driving the carriage to the stables, before commencing his evening at the "Fortune of War" public-house--"what a lovely creature that was! What eyes! what hair! Who knows her?
Do you, mon cher prince ?" "E bellissima, certamente," said the Duca de Montepulciano, and stroked down his jetty moustache.
"Ein gar schones Madchen," said the Hereditary Grand Duke of Eulenschreckenstein, and turned up his carroty one.
"Elle n'est pas mal, ma foi!" said the Prince de Borodino, with a scowl on his darkling brows.