lking-stick adapted
to our peaceable metropolis. A similar change, though in a less degree,
gradually took place in his manner and his conversation. He grew less
abrupt in the one, and more calm, perhaps more cheerful, in the other.
It was evident that he was not insensible to the elevated pleasure of
providing for himself by praiseworthy exertion, of feeling for the first
time that his intellect was of use to him creditably.

A new world, though still dim--seen through mist and fog--began to dawn
upon him.

Such is the vanity of us poor mortals that my interest in Vivian was
probably increased, and my aversion to much in him materially softened,
by observing that I had gained a sort of ascendancy over his savage
nature. When we had first suet by the roadside, and afterwards conversed
in the churchyard, the ascendancy was certainly not on my side. But I
now came from a larger sphere of society than that in which he had yet
moved. I had seen and listened to the first men in England. What had
then dazzled me only, now moved my pity. On the other hand, his active
mind could not but observe the change in me; and whether from envy or
a better feeling, he was willing to learn from me how to eclipse me and
resume his earlier superiority,--not to be superior chafed him. Thus
he listened to me with docility when I pointed out the books which
connected themselves with the various subjects incidental to the
miscellaneous matters on which he was employed. Though he had less of
the literary turn of mind than any one equally clever I had ever met,
and had read little, considering the quantity of thought he had acquired
and the show he made of the few works with which he had voluntarily
made himself familiar, he yet resolutely sat himself down to study; and
though it was clearly against the grain, I augured the more favorably
from tokens of a determination to do what was at the present irksome for
a purpose in the future. Yet whether I should have approved the purpose
had I thoroughly understood it, is another question. There were abysses,
both in his past life and in his character, which I could not penetrate.
There was in him both a reckless frankness and a vigilant reserve: his
frankness was apparent in his talk on all matters immediately before us,
in the utter absence of all effort to make himself seem better than he
was. His reserve was equally shown in the ingenious evasion of every
species of confidence that could admit me in