"Anaxagoras, the disciple of Anaximenes, was surnamed _Nous_, which signifieth _intelligence_, by reason of his excelling quickness of parts, and a certain, I know not what, of instant perception or discernment of nice difficulties in a twinkling. For whereas other wise men went round about to survey the questions to them proponed, on this side and that, and, after much nice calculation and naming of postulates, drew from the balance of probabilities what they affirmed to be a correct answer, this philosopher manifested a strength and clearness of judgment, and swiftness of reasoning, which might be said to partake of intuition,—a faculty which the gods themselves only possess in its perfection: and thus it came to pass that Anaxagoras was called, in the Hellenistic tongue, _Nous_, or intelligence." That was the passage he read; and when he had read it he closed the heavy quarto with a noise like the report of a gun, and again cried out that "he had found it" with all his power of lungs. And then, feeling that he had done business enough for one night, in having made so transcendentally-sagacious a discovery, he put out the small remnant of candle, groped his way to his bedside, and, while he performed the prefatory work of unclothing, thus he soliloquised:— "Yea, of a verity, this is the true interpretation of the mystery. This 'Noose-larnt' young man is some great natural genius,—some miracle of mother wit,—some second Anacharis the Scythian, who would very likely beat all the wise men of this time, although he never entered the pale of the schools,—nay, perhaps, hath never passed beyond the limits of the lordship of Hambleton-on-the-hill. I have no doubt of it; for none but such a genius could have determined, without witchcraft, that this curiously shapen piece of ancient armour pertained to the heel. It is strange that my friend, the parson of Hambleton,—who must have given the young man this expressive epithet, seeing that the rural people understand no Greek,—it is strange that he never told me of the existence of this youth. But I will essay to find him out, if I be spared till the morning light! O Hubby Dickinson! though few now call you Zerubbabel, yet you may have lived to this age for a high purpose, even to bring to light the name and singular endowments of this 'Noose-larnt' youth! Why, the discovery may even ennoble you beyond the composition of the grand Tallagium!" And then Hubby fell asleep, and dreamt delightfully; but the delight itself, of his dream awoke him, and again he began to soliloquise amid the darkness:—