“Oh, Lady C--B--is going to write a Commentary on Ude; and Madame de Genlis a Proof of the Apocrypha. The Duke of N--e is publishing a Treatise on ‘Toleration;’ and Lord L--y an Essay on ‘Self-knowledge.’ As for news more remote, I hear that the Dey of Algiers is finishing an ‘Ode to Liberty’ and the College of Caffraria preparing a volume of voyages to the North Pole!” “Now,” said I, “if I retail this information with a serious air, I will lay a wager that I find plenty of believers; for falsehood, uttered solemnly, is much more like probability than truth uttered doubtingly: else how do the priests of Brama and Mahomet live?” “Ah! now you grow too profound, Mr. Pelham!” “C’est vrai--but--” “Tell me,” interrupted Lady Roseville, “how it happens that you, who talk eruditely enough upon matters of erudition, should talk so lightly upon matters of levity?” “Why,” said I, rising to depart, “very great minds are apt to think that all which they set any value upon, is of equal importance. Thus Hesiod, who, you know, was a capital poet, though rather an imitator of Shenstone, tells us that God bestowed valour on some men, and on others a genius for dancing. It was reserved for me, Lady Roseville, to unite the two perfections. Adieu!” “Thus,” said I, when I was once more alone--“thus do we ‘play the fools with the time,’ until Fate brings that which is better than folly; and, standing idly upon the sea-shore, till we can catch the favouring wind which is to waft the vessel of our destiny to enterprise and fortune, amuse ourselves with the weeds and the pebbles which are within our reach!” CHAPTER XLVI. There was a youth who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and grey before his time; Nor any could the restless grief unravel, Which burned within him, withering up his prime, And goading him, like fiends, from land to land.--P. B. Shelley. From Lady Roseville’s I went to Glanville’s house. He was at home. I was ushered into a beautiful apartment, hung with rich damask, and interspersed with a profusion of mirrors, which enchanted me to the heart. Beyond, to the right of this room, was a small boudoir, fitted up with books, and having, instead of carpets, soft cushions of dark green velvet, so as to supersede the necessity of chairs. This room, evidently a favourite retreat, was adorned at close intervals with girandoles of silver and mother-of-pearl; and the interstices of the book-cases were filled with mirrors, set in silver: the handles of the doors were of the same metal.