“For what is Friendship but a name, A charm which lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth and fame, And leaves the wretch to weep? And Love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.”
“These sentiments are excellently expressed,” said Tom, pinching him by the arm—“and I suppose in perfect consonance with your own?”
Sparkle felt 'the rebuke, look'd down, and seem'd confused; but in a moment recovering himself,
“Not exactly so,” replied he; “but then you know, and I don't mind confessing it among friends, though you are aware it is very unfashionable to acknowledge the existence of any thing of the kind, I am a pupil of nature.”
“You seem to be in a serious humour all at once,” said young Mortimer.
"Can't help it,” continued Sparkle—“for,
“Let them all say what they will, Nature will be nature still.”
“And that usurper, or I should rather say, would be usurper, Fashion, is in no way in alliance with our natures. I remember the old Duchess of Marlborough used to say 'That to love some persons very much, and to see often those we love, is the greatest happiness I can enjoy;' but it appears almost impossible for any person in London to secure such an enjoyment, and I can't help feeling it.”
By the look and manner with which this last sentiment was uttered, Tom plainly discovered there was a something labouring at his heart which prompted it. “Moralizing!” said he. “Ah, Charley, you are a happy fellow. I never yet knew one who could so rapidly change 'from grave to gay, from lively to severe; and for the benefit of our friends, I can't help thinking you could further elucidate the very subject you have so feelingly introduced.”
“You are a quiz” said Sparkle; “but there is one thing to be said, I know you, and have no great objection to your hits now and then, provided they are not knock down blows.”