denounced as committing sacrilege, and as nothing better than an atheist. Surely the time passed in expatiating on the reverend Doctor's faults was rather profitably passed than otherwise.
Edward Lorraine and Emily were a little out of the circle carrying on one of those conversations, "low-voiced and sweet," whose nothings have often a charm which defies the writer, but which the reader's memory may perchance supply. Lady Mandeville and Mr. Lara Trevyllian were seated together on the sofa. He had just arrived from London, and was detailing its novelties with a novelty essentially his own.
The days of description (personal and panegyrical) are passing rapidly away. No one now ushers in a new character by dwelling on "his large blue eyes, beaming with benevolence," or with "raven curls on a brow of marble whiteness." All that is necessary is to state that Mr. Trevyllian had l'air bien distingué; which means, that he was slight, pale, well dressed, and that his manners united much grace with more nonchalance.
The essence of Mr. Trevyllian's existence belonged to a highly polished state of society. His habits, tastes, opinions, feelings, were all
