g
anchor here too. We all know him; and we are aware that, except for the
kindness of heart which he possesses in common with Sylvester, he is
the most absolute contrast to him, in all respects, that it would be
possible to find. Sylvester is quiet and meditative; whilst Vincent
boils over with wit and high spirits. He has an inexhaustible faculty
of clothing everything in bizarre imagery--the most everyday matters,
as well as the most extraordinary; as, moreover, he says everything in
a clear, almost piercing voice, and with the drollest pathos, his talk
is often like a set of magic-lantern slides, carrying the attention
along in constant, unresting alternation and change, without allowing
it to pause and contemplate anything quietly."

"You have drawn a most striking portrait of Vincent," said Theodore;
"but there is one of his characteristics which we must not lose
sight of, that, with all his brilliant qualities, and constant
firework-volleys of humour, he is, heart and soul, devoted to mysticism
of every kind, and introduces it into his pursuits in rich measure. You
know he has taken up medicine as a profession?"

"Yes," said Ottmar; "and, by the way, he is the most eager champion of
Mesmerism to be found, and I must say that I have heard from his lips
the most acute and profound observations possible on that somewhat
obscure subject."

"Ho ho!" said Lothair, laughing, "have you gone to be schooled by all
the magnetisers since the days of Mesmer, that you can be so very
certain as to 'the most acute and profound things possible' that can be
said about Mesmerism? No doubt, if dreams and reveries have to be
brought within the confines of any given system, Vincent, by reason of
his clear-sightedness, is the very man to do it better than thousands
of others. And he treats everything with a jovial good-temper which is
always very delightful. Some time since he happened, in the course of
his peregrinations, to be with me in a certain place, and it chanced
that I had an unendurable nervous headache. Nothing would do it the
slightest good. Vincent came in, and I told him what was the matter.
'What!' he cried, in that clear-toned voice of his, 'you have a
headache?--a mere trifle! I can conjure headaches away in ten minutes'
time; send them wherever you choose--into the arm-chair, or the
ink-bottle, or out of the window!' And he began making his mesmeric
passes. They did not do me the slightest good, but I could not help