s books, and seemed to make his
favourite companions amidst the past. At nearly all hours of the night
he was awake and occupied, and at day-break his horse was always brought
to his door. He rode alone for several hours, and then, on his return,
he was employed till the hour he went to the House, in the affairs and
politics of the day. Ever since his debut, he had entered with
much constancy into the more leading debates, and his speeches were
invariably of the same commanding order which had characterised his
first.

It was singular that, in his parliamentary display, as in his ordinary
conversation, there were none of the wild and speculative opinions, or
the burning enthusiasm of romance, in which the natural inclination of
his mind seemed so essentially to delight. His arguments were always
remarkable for the soundness of the principles on which they were based,
and the logical clearness with which they were expressed. The feverish
fervour of his temperament was, it is true, occasionally shown in a
remarkable energy of delivery, or a sudden and unexpected burst of the
more impetuous powers of oratory; but these were so evidently natural
and spontaneous, and so happily adapted to be impressive of the subject,
rather than irrelevant from its bearings, that they never displeased
even the oldest and coldest cynics and calculators of the House.

It is no uncommon contradiction in human nature (and in Glanville it
seemed peculiarly prominent) to find men of imagination and genius
gifted with the strongest common sense, for the admonition or benefit of
others, even while constantly neglecting to exert it for themselves.
He was soon marked out as the most promising and important of all the
junior members of the House; and the coldness with which he kept aloof
from social intercourse with the party he adopted, only served to
increase their respect, though it prevented their affection.

Lady Roseville's attachment to him was scarcely a secret; the celebrity
of her name in the world of ton made her least look or action the
constant subject of present remark and after conversation; and there
were too many moments, even in the watchful publicity of society, when
that charming but imprudent person forgot every thing but the romance of
her attachment. Glanville seemed not only perfectly untouched by it,
but even wholly unconscious of its existence, and preserved invariably,
whenever he was forced into the crowd, the same stern,