looked sorry, but yet relieved.  We could see that he was not quite disinterested in his inquiries.  “However,” resumed the young Cynic, “his profusion has at least obtained him many noble and wealthy friends.”  He glanced at his hearers, and went on:  “No one that knew him will hear of his distresses without being forward to relieve them.  He will find interest for his money in the hearts of his friends.”  Nobility took snuff; Foppery played with his watch-chain; Hypocrisy looked grave.  There was long silence.  We ventured to regret the misuse of natural talents, which, if properly directed, might have rendered their possessor useful to the interests of society and celebrated in the records of his country.  Everyone stared, as if we were talking Hebrew.  “Very true,” said his lordship, “he enjoys great talents.  No man is a nicer judge of horseflesh.  He beats me at billiards, and Harry at picquet; he’s a dead shot at a button, and can drive his curricle-wheels over a brace of sovereigns.”  “Radicalism,” says Caustic, looking round for a laugh.  “He is a great amateur of pictures,” observed the Exquisite, “and is allowed to be quite a connoisseur in beauty; but there,” simpering, “everyone must claim the privilege of judging for themselves.”  “Upon my word,” said Candour, “you allow poor Charles too little.  I have no doubt he has great courage—­though, to be sure, there was a whisper that young Hawthorn found him rather shy; and I am convinced he is very generous, though I must confess that I have it from good authority that his younger brother was refused the loan of a hundred when Charles had pigeoned that fool of a nabob but the evening before.  I would stake my existence that he is a man of unshaken honour—­though, when he eased Lieutenant Hardy of his pay, there certainly was an awkward story about the transaction, which was never properly cleared up.  I hope that when matters are properly investigated he will be liberated from all his embarrassments; though I am sorry to be compelled to believe that he has been spending double the amount of his income annually.  But I trust that all will be adjusted.  I have no doubt upon the subject.”  “Nor I,” said Caustic.  “We shall miss him prodigiously at the Club,” said the Dandy, with a slight shake of the head.  “What a bore!” replied the Nobleman, with a long yawn.  We could hardly venture to express compassion for a character so despicable.  Our auditors, however, entertained very different opinions of right and wrong!  “Poor fellow! he was much to be pitied:  had done some very foolish things—­to say the truth was a sad scoundrel—­but then he was always so mad.”  And having come unanimously to this decision, the conclave dispersed.

Charles gave an additional proof of his madness within a week after this discussion by swallowing laudanum.  The verdict of the coroner’s inquest confirmed the judgment of his four friends.  For our own parts we must pause before we give in to so dangerous a doctrine.  Here is a man who has outraged the laws of honour, the ties of relationship, and the duties of religion:  he appears before us in the triple character of a libertine, a swindler, and a suicide.  Yet his follies, his vices, his crimes, are all palliated or even applauded by this specious facon de parler—­“He was mad—­quite mad!”