literature;--he had a strong mind; a
wonderful grasp of intellect; but his love of paradox and hypothesis
quite ruined his faculties. NICAS happened to discover some glaring
errors in his last treatise, and the poor man grew sick at heart in
consequence. Nothing short of _infallibility_ and _invincibility_
satisfied him; and, like the Spaniard in the 'Diable Boiteux,' who
went mad because five of his countrymen had been beaten by fifty
Portugese, this unhappy creature lost all patience and forbearance,
because, in an hundred systems which he had built with the cards of
fancy, ninety-nine happened to tumble to the ground.

"This is the dangerous consequence, not so much of vanity and
self-love as of downright literary Quixotism. A man may be cured of
vanity as the French nobleman was--'Ecoutez messieurs! Monseigneur le
Duc va dire la meillure chose du monde!'[78] but for this raving,
ungovernable passion of soaring beyond all human comprehension, I fear
there is no cure but in such a place as the one which is now before
us. Compared with this, how different was MENANDER'S case! Careless
himself about examining and quoting authorities with punctilious
accuracy, and trusting too frequently to the _ipse-dixits_ of good
friends:--with a quick discernment--a sparkling fancy--great store of
classical knowledge, and a never ceasing play of colloquial wit, he
moved right onwards in his manly course--the delight of the gay, and
the admiration of the learned! He wrote much and variously: but in an
evil hour the demon Malice caught him abroad--watched his
deviations--noted down his failings--and, discovering his vulnerable
part, he did not fail, like another Paris, to profit by the discovery.
Menander became the victim of over-refined sensibility: he need not
have feared the demon, as no good man need fear Satan. His pen ceased
to convey his sentiments; he sickened at heart; and after his body had
been covered by the green grass turf, the gentle elves of fairy-land
took care to weave a chaplet to hang upon his tomb, which was never to
know decay! SYCORAX was this demon; and a cunning and clever demon was
he!"

[Footnote 78: This is the substance of the story related in
Darwin's _Zoonomia_: vol. iv. p. 81.]

"I am at a loss," said Philemon, "to comprehend exactly what you
mean?"--"I will cease speaking metaphorically," replied Lysander; "but
Sycorax was a man of ability in his way. He taught literary men, in
some meas