but to love the Dutch school and ridicule the
Italian, and behold a Raphael will not sell, and a Teniers rises into
infinite value! Dutch representations of candlesticks and boors are
sought after with the most rapturous delight; the most disagreeable
objects of nature become the most worshipped treasures of art; and we
emulate each other in testifying our exaltation of taste by contending
for the pictured vulgarities by which taste itself is the most
essentially degraded. In fact, too, the meaner the object, the more
certain it is with us of becoming the rage. In the theatre, we run after
the farce; in painting, we worship the Dutch school; in----"

"Literature?" said Saville.

"No!--our literature still breathes of something noble; but why? Because
books do not always depend upon a clique. A book, in order to succeed,
does not require the opinion of Mr. Saville or Lady Erpingham so much as
a picture or a ballet."

"I am not sure of that," answered Saville, as he withdrew presently
afterwards to a card-table, to share in the premeditated plunder of a
young banker, who was proud of the honour of being ruined by persons of
rank.

In another part of the rooms Constance found a certain old philosopher,
whom I will call David Mandeville. There was something about this man
that always charmed those who had sense enough to be discontented with
the ordinary inhabitants of the Microcosm,--Society. The expression of
his countenance was different from that of others: there was a breathing
goodness in his face--an expansion of mind on his forehead. You
perceived at once that he did not live among triflers, nor agitate
himself with trifles. Serenity beamed from his look--but it was the
serenity of thought. Constance sat down by him.

"Are you not sorry," said Mandeville, "to leave England? You, who have
made yourself the centre of a circle which, for the varieties of
its fascination, has never perhaps been equalled in this country?
Wealth--rank--even wit--others might assemble round them: but none ever
before convened into one splendid galaxy all who were eminent in art,
famous in letters, wise in politics, and even (for who but you were ever
above rivalship?) attractive in beauty. I should have thought it easier
for us to fly from the Armida, than for the Armida to renounce the scene
of her enchantment--the scene in which De Stael bowed to the charms of
her conversation, and Byron celebrated those of her person."

We may c