ine, La Fontaine, Rochefoucault, St.
Evremont, etc.).

"There is one person," said a shrill, querulous voice, "I would rather
see than all these--Don Quixote!"

"Come, come!" said H----; "I thought we should have no heroes, real or
fabulous. What say you, Mr. B----? Are you for eking out your shadowy
list with such names as Alexander, Julius Caesar, Tamerlane, or Ghengis
Khan?"--"Excuse me," said B----, "on the subject of characters in
active life, plotters and disturbers of the world, I have a crotchet
of my own, which I beg leave to reserve."--"No, no! come, out with
your worthies!"--"What do you think of Guy Faux and Judas Iscariot?"
H---- turned an eye upon him like a wild Indian, but cordial and full
of smothered glee. "Your most exquisite reason!" was echoed on all
sides; and A---- thought that B---- had now fairly entangled himself.
"Why, I cannot but think," retorted he of the wistful countenance,
"that Guy Faux, that poor fluttering annual scare-crow of straw and
rags, is an ill-used gentleman. I would give something to see him
sitting pale and emaciated, surrounded by his matches and his barrels
of gunpowder, and expecting the moment that was to transport him to
Paradise for his heroic self-devotion; but if I say any more, there is
that fellow G---- will make something of it. And as to Judas Iscariot,
my reason is different. I would fain see the face of him, who, having
dipped his hand in the same dish with the Son of Man, could afterwards
betray him. I have no conception of such a thing; nor have I ever seen
any picture (not even Leonardo's very fine one) that gave me the least
idea of it."--"You have said enough, Mr. B----, to justify your
choice."

"Oh! ever right, Menenius,--ever right!"

"There is only one other person I can ever think of after this,"
continued H----; but without mentioning a name that once put on a
semblance of mortality. "If Shakspeare was to come into the room, we
should all rise up to meet him; but if that person was to come into
it, we should all fall down and try to kiss the hem of his garment!"

As a lady present seemed now to get uneasy at the turn the
conversation had taken, we rose up to go.[35] The morning broke with
that dim, dubious light by which Giotto, Cimabue, and Ghirlandaio must
have seen to paint their earliest works; and we parted to meet again
and renew similar topics at night, the next night, and the night after
that, till that night overspread Europe which sa