e,
therefore, was my disappointment to find that before the soup was
removed he had thawed considerably. The stern wrinkles of his haughty
face relaxed, and a bland and good-humoured smile had usurped the place
of his former fixed and determined look. Doing the honours of his table
with the most perfect tact, he contrived, while almost monopolising
the conversation, to appear the least obtrusive amongst us; his remarks
being ever accompanied by some appeal to his daughter, the priest, or
myself, seemed to link us in the interest of all he said, and make
his very listeners deem themselves entertaining and agreeable.
Unfortunately, I can present but a very meagre picture of this happy
gift; but I remember well how insensibly my prejudices gave way, one
by one, as I listened to his anecdotes, and heard him recount, with
admirable humour, many a story of his early career. To be sure, it
may be said that my criticism was not likely to be severe while seated
beside his beautiful daughter, whose cheek glowed with pleasure,
and whose bright eye glistened with added lustre as she remarked the
impression her father's agree-ability was making on his guests. Such
may, I doubt not, have increased the delight I felt; but Sir Simon's own
claims were still indisputable.

I know not how far I shall meet my reader's concurrence in the remark,
but it appears to me that conversational talent, like wine, requires
age to make it mellow. The racy flavour that smacks of long knowledge
of life, the reflective tone that deepens without darkening the picture,
the freedom from exaggeration either in praise or censure, are not
the gifts of young men, usually; and certainly they do season the
intercourse of older ones, greatly to its advantage. There is, moreover,
a pleasant flattery in listening to the narratives of those who
were mixing with the busy world--its intrigues, its battles, and its
byplay--while we were but boys. How we like to hear of the social
everyday life of those great men of a bygone day, whose names have
become already historical; what a charm does it lend to reminiscence,
when the names of Burke, Sheridan, Grattan, and Curran start up amid
memories of youthful pleasure; and how we treasure every passing word
that is transmitted to us, and how much, in spite of all the glorious
successes of their after days, do we picture them to ourselves, from
some slight or shadowy trait of their school or college life!

Sir Simon Bellow's