william henry, marquess of marylebone, completed his twenty-first year: an event which created a greater sensation among the aristocracy of england, even, than the majority of george augustus frederick, duke of st. james. the rent-roll of his grace was great: but that of his lordship was incalculable. he had not indeed so many castles as our hero; but then, in the metropolis, a whole parish owned him as lord, and it was whispered that, when a few miles of leases fell in, the very civil list must give him the wall. even in the duration of his minority, he had the superiority over the young duke, for the marquess was a posthumous son.

lord marylebone was a short, thick, swarthy young gentleman, with wiry black hair, a nose somewhat flat, sharp eyes, and tusky mouth; altogether not very unlike a terrier. his tastes were unknown: he had not travelled, nor done anything very particular, except, with a few congenial spirits, beat the guards in a rowing-match, a pretty diversion, and almost as conducive to a small white hand as almond-paste.

but his lordship was now of age, and might be seen every day at a certain hour rattling up bond street in a red drag, in which he drove four or five particular friends who lived at stevens’ hotel, and therefore, we suppose, were the partners of his glory in his victory over his majesty’s household troops. lord marylebone was the universal subject of conversation. pursuits which would have devoted a shabby earl of twelve or fifteen thousand a year to universal reprobation, or, what is much worse, to universal sneers, assumed quite a different character when they constituted the course of life of this fortunate youth. he was a delightful young man. so unaffected! no super-refinement, no false delicacy. everyone, each sex, everything, extended his, her, or its hand to this cub, who, quite puzzled, but too brutal to be confused, kept driving on the red van, and each day perpetrating some new act of profligacy, some new instance of coarse profusion, tasteless extravagance, and inelegant eccentricity.

but, nevertheless, he was the hero of the town. he was the great point of interest in ‘the universe,’ and ‘the new world’ favoured the old one with weekly articles on his character and conduct. the young duke was quite forgotten, if really young he could be longer called. lord marylebone was in the mouth of every tradesman, who authenticated his own vile inventions by foisting them on his lordship. the most grotesque fashions suddenly inundated the metropolis; and when the duke of st. james ventured to express his disapprobation, he found his empire was over. ‘they were sorry that it did not meet his grace’s taste, but really what his grace had suggested was quite gone by. this was the only hat, or cane, or coat which any civilised being could be seen with. lord marylebone wore, or bore, no other.’

in higher circles, it was much the same. although the dandies would not bate an inch, and certainly would not elect the young marquess for their leader, they found, to their dismay, that the empire which they were meditating to defend, had already slipped away from their grasp. a new race of adventurous youths appeared upon the stage. beards, and greatcoats even rougher, bull-dogs instead of poodles, clubs instead of canes, cigars instead of perfumes, were the order of the day. there was no end to boat-racing; crockford’s sneered at white’s; and there was even a talk of reviving the ring. even the women patronised the young marquess, and those who could not be blind to his real character, were sure, that, if well managed, he would not turn out ill.

assuredly our hero, though shelved, did not envy his successful rival. had he been, instead of one for whom he felt a sovereign contempt, a being even more accomplished than himself, pity and not envy would have been the sentiment he would have yielded to his ascendant star. but, nevertheless, he could not be insensible to the results of this incident; and the advent of the young marquess seemed like the sting in the epigram of his life. after all his ruinous magnificence, after all the profuse indulgence of his fantastic tastes, he had sometimes consoled himself, even in the bitterness of satiety, by reminding himself, that he at least commanded the admiration of his fellow-creatures, although it had been purchased at a costly price. not insensible to the power of his wealth, the magic of his station, he had, however, ventured to indulge in the sweet belief that these qualities were less concerned in the triumphs of his career than his splendid person, his accomplished mind, his amiable disposition, and his finished manner; his beauty, his wit, his goodness, and his grace. even from this delusion, too, was he to waken, and, for the first time in his life, he gauged the depth and strength of that popularity which had been so dear to him, and which he now found to be so shallow and so weak.

‘what will they think of me when they know all? what they will: i care not. i would sooner live in a cottage with may dacre, and work for our daily bread, than be worshipped by all the beauty of this babylon.’

gloomy, yet sedate, he returned home. his letters announced two extraordinary events. m. de whiskerburg had galloped off with lady aphrodite, and count frill had flown away with the bird of paradise.