“God save the Queen,” the little circle of those who would hear the last note moved off, there was a clattering of shutters, a shining of lights through casement-windows, and soon the only sound to be heard was the rough voice of some villager, who would have been too timid to adventure anything by daylight, but now sang boldly out as he went homewards. _Ellesmere_. Very pretty, but it sounds to me somewhat fabulous. _Milverton_. I assure you— _Ellesmere_. Yes, you were tired, had a good dinner, read a speech for or against the corn-laws, fell asleep of course, and had this ingenious dream, which, to this day, you believe to have been a reality. I understand it all. _Milverton_. I wish I could have many more such dreams. CHAPTER V. OUR last conversation broke off abruptly on the entrance of a visitor: we forgot to name a time for our next meeting; and when I came again, I found Milverton alone in his study. He was reading Count Rumford’s essays. _Dunsford_. So you are reading Count Rumford. What is it that interests you there? _Milverton_. Everything he writes about. He is to me a delightful writer. He throws so much life into all his writings. Whether they are about making the most of food or fuel, or propounding the benefits of bathing, or inveighing against smoke, it is that he went and saw and did and experimented himself upon himself. His proceedings at Munich to feed the poor are more interesting than many a novel. It is surprising, too, how far he was before the world in all the things he gave his mind to. Here Ellesmere entered. _Ellesmere_. I heard you were come, Dunsford: I hope we shall have an essay to-day. My critical faculties have been dormant for some days, and want to be roused a little. Milverton was talking to you about Count Rumford when I came in, was he not? Ah, the Count is a great favourite with Milverton when he is down here; but there is a book upstairs which is Milverton’s real favourite just now, a portentous-looking book; some relation to a blue-book, something about sewerage, or health of towns, or public improvements, over which said book our friend here goes into enthusiasms. I am sure if it could be reduced to the size of that tatterdemalion Horace that he carries about, the poor little Horace would be quite supplanted. _Milverton_. Now, I must tell you, Dunsford, that Ellesmere himself took up this book he talks about, and it was a long time before he put it down. _Ellesmere_. Yes, there is something in real life, even though it is in the unheroic part of it, that interests one. I mean to get through the book. _Dunsford_. What are we to have to-day for our essay? Milverton. Let us adjourn to the garden, and I will read you an essay on Greatness, if I can find it. * * * * * We went to our favourite place, and Milverton read us the following essay. GREATNESS.