So he would talk _ex curia_, a dilatory, lovable vagabond, with a rare power of enchantment drawn from some hidden depths, as from a fern-curtained well. Perhaps this sensuous personal charm--whereby he would appear to flatter with signal affectionate regard each in turn of his numerous acquaintances--would of itself have failed after the first to win a poor love-stricken from prolonged contemplation of any but his own interests. It was the man’s spasmodic revelations of unexpected virile forces held in reserve that would suddenly convert in another a little growing sentiment of tolerant disdain to an eager desire to be acclaimed friend by this subject of his condescension. So, may be, the force operated upon Ned. For succeeding his first gratification over an introduction to one in whom he had latterly prefigured the regenerator of France, came a thought of _désagrément_ in his soul’s nominee, a feeling of disillusionment in which he was prepared to recognise another example of Fortune’s wanton baiting of his personal cherished ideals. Then one day he heard this seeming waiter on Providence, this almost coatless landholder of Utopia, speak in the Assembly; and thenceforth he had nothing but reverence for the ardent soul, whose misfortune only it was to be bounded by a love more human in its essence than divine. He had seen the familiar figure sitting with its hand over its face; he had next seen the face revealed from the tribune, inspired, transformed, as if the hand itself, consecrate as a priest’s, had touched and wrought the priestly sacrament of confirmation; and the sermon of high government that followed had taken wings of fire from the burning spirit that informed it; and the hearts of men had kindled and glowed, flaring at length--alas, too self-consumingly!--into roaring flame. Well, such moments were for Ned’s holiday moods. This present friendship and admiration saved him, perhaps, from hobnobbing with more harmfully potent spirits. Yet the one enthusiasm could galvanise him only fitfully into an interest in the passionate scenes amongst which he moved. So negative a pole is love--when turned from the north-star of its hopes--to all that in less misconverted circumstances would attract it. Here was he a spectator at last of the stupendous drama in the early rehearsals of which he had been so profoundly interested; and he had nothing for it all but a lack-lustre eye, which he must always keep from turning inwards by an effort. He lived, in fact, in a little miserable tub of his own choosing, while the Alexanders of a political renaissance made history around, and unregarded of, him.