the Curate, a
class man some year or two from Oxford--a true man, in a word, worthy of
this introduction to you, Eusebius." "Mr. Curate, my friend Eusebius;
see, don't trust to his gravity of years; it is quite deceptive, and the
only deceit he has about him. He is Truth in sunshine and a fresh
healthy breeze. So now you know each other." I wish, Eusebius, this were
not a passage out of an imaginary conversation. Wait but for the
swallow, and you shall shake hands; and you, I know, will laugh merrily
within ten minutes after; and a laugh from you is as good as a ticket
upon your breast, "All is natural here;" and for the rest, let come what
will, that is uppermost. There will be no restraint. I cannot forbear,
Eusebius, writing to you now, early in this new year, paying you this
compliment, that your real conversations resemble in much "Landor's
Imaginary," which you tell me you so greatly admire. Full, indeed, are
they, these last two volumes, his works, of beautiful thoughts set off
with exquisitely appropriate eloquence. You are in a garden, and if you
do not always recognise the fruit as legitimate, you are quite as well
pleased to find it like Aladdin's, and would willingly store all, as he
did, in the bosom of your memory. Precious stones, bigger than plums and
peaches, are good for sore eyes, and something more, though they have
not the flavour of apricots.

We--that is, the Trio--had been reading one evening; or rather, our
friend Gratian read to me and the Curate, the "Conversation with the
Abbe Delille and W. L." We loitered, too, in the reading, as we do when
the country is of a pleasant aspect, to look about us and admire--and we
interspersed our own little talk by the way. Our friend could not
consent that Catullus should walk with, and even, as it should seem,
take the lead of his favourite Horace. "Catullus and Horace," says
Landor, "will be read as long as Homer and Virgil, and more often, and
by more readers."

"If," said the Curate, "Catullus were not nearly banished from our
public schools and our universities."

"As he deserves," replied Gratian; "for although there is in him great
elegance, yet is there much that should not be read; and his most
beautiful and most powerful little poem, his 'Atys,' is in its very
subject unfit for schoolboys."

CURATE.--Yes, if in the presence of a master; that makes the only
difficulty. The poem itself is essentially chaste, and of a grand tragic
action, and gr