arkable in it, to forget it all again on the morrow: while Emilius
took a week to study thoroughly whatever was said in books about it,
that he might not leave anything unnoticed; and after all out of
indolence thought there was hardly anything worth going to look at.
Roderick had immediately made a thousand acquaintances, and been to
every public place of entertainment; and he would often bring his
new-made friends to Emilius in his solitary chamber, where, as soon as
he began to be tired of them, he left him alone with them. At other
times he would confound the modest Emilius by heaping extravagant
praises on his talents and acquirements in the presence of learned and
intelligent men, and by telling them how much information they might
derive from his friend with regard to languages, antiquities, or the
fine arts, though he himself could never find leisure to listen to him
on these subjects when the conversation happened to turn on them. But
if Emilius ever chanced to be in a more active mood, he might almost
make sure that his truant friend would have caught cold the night
before at some ball or sledge-party, and be forced to keep his bed; so
that, with the liveliest, most restless, and most communicative of men
for his companion, Emilius lived in the greatest solitude.

On this day he confidently expected him, having made Roderick give him
a solemn promise to spend the evening with him, in order to hear what
it was that for several weeks had been depressing and agitating his
pensive friend. Meanwhile Emilius wrote down the following lines:

'Tis sweet when spring its choir assembles,
And every nightingale is steeping
The trees in his melodious weeping,
Till leaf and bloom with rapture trembles.

Fair is the net that moonlight weaves;
Fair are the breezes gambolings
As with lime-odours on their wings
They chase each other through the leaves.

Bright is the glory of the rose,
When Love's rich magic decks the earth,
From countless roses Love peeps forth,
Those stars wherewith Love's heaven glows.

But sweeter, fairer, brighter far
To me that little lamp's pale gleaming,
When, through the narrow casement streaming
It bids me hail my evening star;

As from their braids she flings her tresses,
Then twines them in a flowery band,
While at each motion of her hand
The light robe to her fair form presses;

Or when she wakes her lute's deep slumbers,
And, as at morning's touch upd