man's attention or conversation, though, in truth, he had risen from no greater beginnings than myself. Out of office I was totally unnoticed."

66

Perhaps," said I," he was one of those who

'Hate for arts that taught themselves to rise.""

"I know not how that was," replied he, "nor was I angry; but as I had promised myself a different sort of reception from him, I did not care to continue in such cold embraces, and desired to quit. For this I was thought a fool by my friends, but not by myself, if only because I could now meet his coach without caring who was in it. In truth, I had not the ambition of many who, from being small people themselves, think that to be about the great is all-in-all. Thus I resigned my office to a young aspirant, who was in his glory at being allowed to direct his patron's letters."

"I honour you," said I, " for your independence in all this, but am not quite so sure of your prudence. Who knows to what you might have risen, had you continued."

66

Your observation," said he, " is only natural; but all depends upon character. Mine had anything but that sort of turbulent activity that loves excitement; nay, cannot do without it. I had not even the excitement of vanity;-which, while it lasts, and the notice of great people is new, seems, and, indeed, is to many, for the time being, happiness

VOL. III.

H

sufficient. But when the supposed grandeur, the halo that surrounds people of power, and, still more, people of fashion, becomes familiar, or is past away, there is nothing left but the same vacuity that attends a commonplace intercourse, as far as anything but superior intellect is concerned. It, indeed, is inconceivable how soon the mere dazzle of greatness, qua greatness, loses its brillianey, and how soon high and low, in all respects but mind, are brought to a level. As for my patron, as you call him, I would not, I assure you, have exchanged situations with him.”

"That, I own, is wonderful," said I; "but you no doubt had a reason."

"The sword of Damocles," returned he.

"O! now I understand you."

"It hung perpetually over him: he could not look up or down, on one side or the other, but it was pointed full at his heart. In fact, he loved power, but was ever in fear of losing it. The word revolution gave him the spleen; the huzza of a mob quailed his nerves; a popular address broke his sleep; and if you had seen his anxiety as to the result of a debate, you would not wonder at my opinions. I mean not to say that all this might not have charms for some. They had none for me. Others love troubled waters, I the clear stream. I ever loved those lines of Gay to Pope,

on the scenes he was condemned to hate, and to

live in

'You, who the sweets of rural life have known,

Despise th' ungrateful hurry of the town;

In Windsor groves your easy hours employ,
And, undisturb'd, yourself and muse enjoy.
But I, who ne'er was bless'd by fortune's hand,
Nor brighten'd ploughshares in paternal land
Long in the noisy town have been immur'd,
Respir'd its smoke, and all its cares endur'd;
Where news and politics divide mankind,

And schemes of state involve th' uneasy mind.'

I was taught the truth and justice of these lines by experience. Afterwards they were never out of my memory; and I only wonder how I came to breathe the official atmosphere so long as I did."

66

They are tempting lines, indeed,” said I, “and at your age would have made me mad, too."

his

I was going to compliment him again upon philosophy, but he denied it to be such; saying, there was no more in it than in the case of a man who, being always ill in a coach, preferred travelling on foot.

"I am certainly," continued he, "not one of those to whom a coach is in their passage through life. My enjoyments are cheap, for they

are easily obtained."

necessary

"Pray let me know them,' said I.

"You will laugh, perhaps, when I tell

you, that

the most sensual is fine weather.

I am, indeed, like the eccentric, but, in this, most rational Duchess of Queensbury, who tells Lady Suffolk, When the weather is fair, I ride a great deal; when bad, I sit still, and endeavour to paint sunshine.'

"But your evenings!" said I. "No wife! no company! A green old bachelor!"

"The most independent of all," answered he. "When, for example, I have shut my door, which encloses a principality of some fifteen feet square; my candles lighted, and my fire burning, if winter; or my window open, and letting in the honeysuckle, if summer; prepared to moralize on all I have seen, heard, or read in the day, totus in hoc, and without a thought foreign to what I am about, --who happier than myself?"

"Not Secretary Damocles, I will answer for it," said I; and here, having set him down at his door, we parted.

SECTION XXVII.

AN OLD MAN'S STORY.

"Here we wander in illusions."

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

LOVEGROVE, from his age, appeared certainly to be no common character; for I could detect nothing in him to make me think that he did not understand himself, or suppose he would not persevere in the course of life he had chosen. His wants were few, and his passions not high. His great, and almost only enjoyments were books, fine weather, and conversation,-for the former of which he was celebrated; and for the last, the place he had chosen for his sojourn gave him ample opportunities, from the succession of good company which it generally afforded.

I went much earlier to him than his dinner-hour warranted, and found his house simple but elegant; which was the character of himself and everything about him.

A conversation I had with him, in an alcove of