have the bump of 'conscientiousness' in full salience!" Nevertheless, to do those demoniacs justice, I had got through time imperceptibly by their pestilent help; and I was startled to see, by my watch, how late it was. I had just resolved to leave a line fixing an appointment for the morrow, and so depart, when I heard Vivian's knock, --a knock that had great character in it, haughty, impatient, irregular; not a neat, symmetrical, harmonious, unpretending knock, but a knock that seemed to set the whole house and street at defiance: it was a knock bullying--a knock ostentatious--a knock irritating and offensive-- impiger and iracundus. But the step that came up the stairs did not suit the knock; it was a step light, yet firm--slow, yet elastic. The maid-servant who had opened the door had, no doubt, informed Vivian of my visit, for he did not seem surprised to see me; but he cast that hurried, suspicious look round the room which a man is apt to cast when he has left his papers about and finds some idler, on whose trustworthiness he by no means depends, seated in the midst of the unguarded secrets. The look was not flattering; but my conscience was so unreproachful that I laid all the blame upon the general suspiciousness of Vivian's character. "Three hours, at least, have I been here!" said I, maliciously. "Three hours!"--again the look. "And this is the worst secret I have discovered,"--and I pointed to those literary Manicheans. "Oh!" said he, carelessly, "French novels! I don't wonder you stayed so long. I can't read your English novels,--flat and insipid; there are truth and life here." "Truth and life!" cried I, every hair on my head erect with astonishment. "Then hurrah for falsehood and death!" "They don't please you,--no accounting for tastes." "I beg your pardon,--I account for yours, if you really take for truth and life monsters so nefast and flagitious. For Heaven's sake, my dear fellow, don't suppose that any man could get on in England,--get anywhere but to the Old Bailey or Norfolk Island,--if he squared his conduct to such topsy-turvy notions of the world as I find here." "How many years are you my senior," asked Vivian, sneeringly, "that you should play the mentor and correct my ignorance of the world?" "Vivian, it is not age and experience that speak here, it is something far wiser than they,--the instinct of a man's heart and a gentleman's honor." "Well, well," said Vivian, rather discomposed, "let the poor books alone; you know my creed--that books influence us little one way or the other." "By the great Egyptian library and the soul of Diodorus! I wish you could hear my father upon that point. Come," added I, with sublime compassion, "come, it is not too late, do let me introduce you to my father. I will consent to read French novels all my life if a single chat with Austin Caxton does not send you home with a happier face and lighter heart. Come, let me take you back to dine with us to-day."