would give something to see him sitting pale and emaciated,
surrounded by his matches and his barrels of gunpowder, and expecting the
moment that was to transport him to Paradise for his heroic self-devotion;
but if I say any more, there is that fellow G---- will make something of
it.--And as to Judas Iscariot, my reason is different. I would fain see
the face of him, who, having dipped his hand in the same dish with the Son
of Man, could afterwards betray him. I have no conception of such a thing;
nor have I ever seen any picture (not even Leonardo's very fine one) that
gave me the least idea of it."--"You have said enough, Mr. B----, to
justify your choice."

"Oh! ever right, Menenius,--ever right!"

"There is only one other person I can ever think of after this," continued
H----; but without mentioning a name that once put on a semblance of
mortality. "If Shakspeare was to come into the room, we should all rise up
to meet him; but if that person was to come into it, we should all fall
down and try to kiss the hem of his garment!"

As a lady present seemed now to get uneasy at the turn the conversation
had taken, we rose up to go. The morning broke with that dim, dubious
light by which Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio must have seen to paint
their earliest works; and we parted to meet again and renew similar
topics at night, the next night, and the night after that, till that night
overspread Europe which saw no dawn. The same event, in truth, broke up
our little Congress that broke up the great one. But that was to meet
again: our deliberations have never been resumed.

XX

ON READING OLD BOOKS

I hate to read new books. There are twenty or thirty volumes that I have
read over and over again, and these are the only ones that I have any
desire ever to read at all. It was a long time before I could bring myself
to sit down to the Tales of My Landlord, but now that author's works have
made a considerable addition to my scanty library. I am told that some of
Lady Morgan's are good, and have been recommended to look into Anastasius;
but I have not yet ventured upon that task. A lady, the other day, could
not refrain from expressing her surprise to a friend, who said he had been
reading Delphine:--she asked,--If it had not been published some time
back? Women judge of books as they do of fashions or complexions, which
are admired only "in their newest gloss." That is not my way. I am not one
of those who tro