urope in ponderous carriages, bound
on extraordinary errands. One is going to Venice to buy La Bianchi's
larynx; he won't get it till she's dead, of course, but no matter; he's
prepared to wait; he has a collection, pickled in glass bottles, of
the throats of famous opera singers. And the instruments of renowned
virtuosi--he goes in for them too; he will try to bribe Paganini to part
with his little Guarnerio, but he has small hope of success. Paganini
won't sell his fiddle; but perhaps he might sacrifice one of his
guitars. Others are bound on crusades--one to die miserably among the
savage Greeks, another, in his white top hat, to lead Italians against
their oppressors. Others have no business at all; they are just giving
their oddity a continental airing. At home they cultivate themselves at
leisure and with greater elaboration. Beckford builds towers, Portland
digs holes in the ground, Cavendish, the millionaire, lives in a stable,
eats nothing but mutton, and amuses himself--oh, solely for his private
delectation--by anticipating the electrical discoveries of half a
century. Glorious eccentrics! Every age is enlivened by their presence.
Some day, my dear Denis," said Mr Scogan, turning a beady bright regard
in his direction--"some day you must become their biographer--'The Lives
of Queer Men.' What a subject! I should like to undertake it myself."

Mr. Scogan paused, looked up once more at the towering house, then
murmured the word "Eccentricity," two or three times.

"Eccentricity...It's the justification of all aristocracies. It
justifies leisured classes and inherited wealth and privilege and
endowments and all the other injustices of that sort. If you're to do
anything reasonable in this world, you must have a class of people who
are secure, safe from public opinion, safe from poverty, leisured, not
compelled to waste their time in the imbecile routines that go by the
name of Honest Work. You must have a class of which the members can
think and, within the obvious limits, do what they please. You must have
a class in which people who have eccentricities can indulge them and in
which eccentricity in general will be tolerated and understood. That's
the important thing about an aristocracy. Not only is it eccentric
itself--often grandiosely so; it also tolerates and even encourages
eccentricity in others. The eccentricities of the artist and the
new-fangled thinker don't inspire it with that fear, loathing, and
d