public is more
large. Authors in all ages address themselves to what interests
their readers; the same things do not interest a vast community which
interested half a score of monks or book-worms. The literary polls was
once an oligarchy, it is now a republic. It is the general brilliancy of
the atmosphere which prevents your noticing the size of any particular
star. Do you not see that with the cultivation of the masses has
awakened the Literature of the affections? Every sentiment finds
an expositor, every feeling an oracle. Like Epimenides, I have been
sleeping in a cave; and, waking, I see those whom I left children are
bearded men, and towns have sprung up in the landscapes which I left as
solitary wastes."

Thence the reader may perceive the causes of the change which had come
over my father. As Robert Hall says, I think of Dr. Kippis. "He had laid
so many books at the top of his head that the brains could not move."
But the electricity had now penetrated the heart, and the quickened
vigor of that noble organ enabled the brain to stir. Meanwhile, I leave
my father to these influences, and to the continuous conversations of
Uncle Jack, and proceed with the thread of my own egotism.

Thanks to Mr. Trevanion, my habits were not those which favor
friendships with the idle, but I formed some acquaintances amongst young
men a few years older than myself, who held subordinate situations in
the public offices, or were keeping their terms for the Bar. There was
no want of ability amongst these gentlemen, but they had not yet settled
into the stern prose of life. Their busy hours only made them more
disposed to enjoy the hours of relaxation. And when we got together, a
very gay, light-hearted set we were! We had neither money enough to
be very extravagant, nor leisure enough to be very dissipated; but
we amused ourselves notwithstanding. My new friends were wonderfully
erudite in all matters connected with the theatres. From an opera to a
ballet, from "Hamlet" to the last farce from the French, they had
the literature of the stage at the finger-ends of their straw-colored
gloves. They had a pretty large acquaintance with actors and actresses,
and were perfect Walpoladi in the minor scandals of the day. To do
them justice, however, they were not indifferent to the more masculine
knowledge necessary in "this wrong world." They talked as familiarly of
the real actors of life as of the sham ones. They could adjust to a hair
t