"That, indeed, he is, ma'am. He may be succinctly said to have a newspaper mind, as he reduces every thing in nature or art to news, and commonly imparts to it so much of his own peculiar character, that it loses all identity with the subjects to which it originally belonged. One scarcely knows which to admire most about this man, the atmospheric transparency of his motives, for he is so disinterested as seldom even to think of paying for a dinner when travelling, and yet so conscientious as always to say something obliging of the tavern as soon as he gets home--his rigid regard to facts; or the exquisite refinement and delicacy that he imparts to every thing he touches. Over all this, too, he throws a beautiful halo of morality and religion, never even prevaricating in the hottest discussion, unless with the unction of a saint!" "Do you happen to know Florio?" asked Mrs. Legend, a little distrusting John Effingham's account of Captain Kant. "If I do, it must indeed be by accident. What are his chief characteristics, ma'am?" "Sentiment, pathos, delicacy, and all in rhyme, too. You no doubt, have heard of his triumph over Lord Byron, Miss Effingham?" Eve was obliged to confess that it was new to her. "Why, Byron wrote an ode to Greece, commencing with 'The Isles of Greece! the Isles of Greece!' a very feeble line, as any one will see, for it contained a useless and an unmeaning repetition." "And you might add vulgar, too, Mrs. Legend," said John Effingham, "since it made a palpable allusion to all those vulgar incidents that associate themselves in the mind, with these said common-place isles. The arts, philosophy, poetry, eloquence, and even old Homer, are brought unpleasantly to one's recollection, by such an indiscreet invocation." "So Florio thought, and, by way of letting the world perceive the essential difference between the base and the pure coin, _he_ wrote an ode on England, which commenced as such an ode _should_!" "Do you happen to recollect any of it, ma'am?" "Only the first line, which I greatly regret, as the rhyme is Florio's chief merit. But this line is, of itself, sufficient to immortalize a man." "Do not keep us in torment, dear Mrs. Legend, but let us have it, of heaven's sake!" "It began in this sublime strain, sir--'Beyond the wave!--Beyond the wave!' Now, Miss Effingham, that is what _I_ call poetry!" "And well you may, ma'am," returned the gentleman, who perceived Eve could scarce refrain from breaking out in a very unsentimental manner--"So much pathos." "And so sententious and flowing!" "Condensing a journey of three thousand miles, as it might be, into three words, and a note of admiration. I trust it was printed with a note of admiration, Mrs. Legend?" "Yes, sir, with two--one behind each wave--and such waves, Mr. Effingham!" "Indeed, ma'am, you may say so. One really gets a grand idea of them, England lying beyond each." "So much expressed in so few syllables!"