"What necessity can there possibly be for disfiguring yourself so?"
"Why, you see, I am obliged to be captain of the Hampshire militia, of which Lord Palmerston is colonel and commander," continued Meyler, heaving another sigh, and looking most interestingly pensive, while his eyes were steadily fixed on the cap.
I could not help laughing; for there was in fact an originality about Meyler's manner of saying mere trifles, which it would be impossible to describe. And then he spoke so very slow, and his mouth was such a model of beauty, that even nonsense came gracefully out of it.
"Meyler has brought his large dog over with him from Hampshire," said Mildmay to me one evening at the Opera; "and he is at least half an hour saying his name."
"What is his name?"
"Why Ch-a-n-c-e," answered Sir Harry, mimicking him.
"Meyler is not stupid," said I.
"Why, no," replied Mildmay. "Meyler possesses a good understanding when one can give him a fortnight to consider things; but whenever impulse is required he is of no use on earth."