e forest his tablets, and writes his inspirations
upon the leaves of the trees: but the source of that inspiration you
cannot tell; it is neither the truth nor the beauty of his sayings
which you admire, though you fancy that it is: it is the mystery which
accompanies them."

"Pray," said I, stretching myself listlessly on the opposite sofa to
Vincent, "do you not imagine that one great cause of this spirit of
which you speak, and which seems to be nothing more than a thoughtful
method of expressing all things, even to trifles, was the great
loneliness to which the ancient poets and philosophers were attached? I
think (though I have not your talent for quoting) that Cicero calls
the consideratio naturae, the pabulum animi; and the mind which, in
solitude, is confined necessarily to a few objects, meditates more
closely upon those it embraces: the habit of this meditation enters
and pervades the system, and whatever afterwards emanates from it
is tinctured with the thoughtful and contemplative colours it has
received."

"Heus Domine!" cried Vincent: "how long have you learnt to read Cicero,
and talk about the mind?"

"Ah," said I, "I am perhaps less ignorant than I affect to be: it is now
my object to be a dandy; hereafter I may aspire to be an orator--a wit,
a scholar, or a Vincent. You will see then that there have been many
odd quarters of an hour in my life less unprofitably wasted than you
imagine."

Vincent rose in a sort of nervous excitement, and then reseating
himself, fixed his dark bright eyes steadfastly upon me for some
moments; his countenance all the while assuming a higher and graver
expression than I had ever before seen it wear.

"Pelham," said he, at last, "it is for the sake of moments like these,
when your better nature flashes out, that I have sought your society and
your friendship. I, too, am not wholly what I appear: the world may
yet see that Halifax was not the only statesman whom the pursuits of
literature had only formed the better for the labours of business.
Meanwhile, let me pass for the pedant, and the bookworm: like a sturdier
adventurer than myself, 'I bide my time.'--Pelham--this will be a busy
session! shall you prepare for it?"

"Nay," answered I, relapsing into my usual tone of languid affectation;
"I shall have too much to do in attending to Stultz, and Nugee, and
Tattersall and Baxter, and a hundred other occupiers of spare time.
Remember, this is my first season in London