philosophy of the ancients, nothing but a sanction for modern bigotry
and existing abuses.

It was a remarkable trait in his conversation, that though he indulged
in many references to the old authors, and allusions to classic customs,
he never deviated into the innumerable quotations with which his memory
was stored. No words, in spite of all the quaintness and antiquity of
his dialect, purely Latin or Greek, ever escaped his lips, except in our
engagements at capping verses, or when he was allured into accepting
a challenge of learning from some of its pretenders; then, indeed, he
could pour forth such a torrent of authorities as effectually silenced
his opponent; but these contests were rarely entered into, and these
triumphs moderately indulged. Yet he loved the use of quotations in
others, and I knew the greatest pleasure I could give him was in the
frequent use of them. Perhaps he thought it would seem like an empty
parade of learning in one who so confessedly possessed it, to deal in
the strange words of another tongue, and consequently rejected them,
while, with an innocent inconsistency, characteristic of the man, it
never occurred to him that there was any thing, either in the quaintness
of his dialect or the occupations of his leisure, which might subject
him to the same imputation of pedantry.

And yet, at times, when he warmed in his subject, there was a tone in
his language as well as sentiment, which might not be improperly termed
eloquent; and the real modesty and quiet enthusiasm of his nature,
took away from the impression he made, the feeling of pomposity and
affectation with which otherwise he might have inspired you.

"You have a calm and quiet habitation here," said I; "the very rooks
seem to have something lulling in that venerable caw which it always
does me such good to hear."

"Yes," answered Clutterbuck, "I own that there is much that is grateful
to the temper of my mind in this retired spot. I fancy that I can the
better give myself up to the contemplation which makes, as it were, my
intellectual element and food. And yet I dare say that in this (as in
all other things) I do strongly err; for I remember that during my only
sojourn in London, I was wont to feel the sound of wheels and of the
throng of steps shake the windows of my lodging in the Strand, as if it
were but a warning to recal my mind more closely to its studies--of a
verity that noisy evidence of man's labour reminded me how