any man of genius (not also
of birth) to think the Great of this country can possibly esteem him!
Nothing can equal the secret enmity with which dull men regard an
intellect above their comprehension. Party politics, and the tact, the
shifting, the commonplace that Party politics alone require; these they
can appreciate; and they feel respect for an orator, even though he be
not a county member; for he can assist them in their paltry ambition
for place and pension: but an author, or a man of science, the rogues
positively jeer at him!"

"And yet," said Saville, "how few men of letters perceive a truth so
evident to us, so hackneyed even in the conversations of society! For a
little reputation at a dinner table, for a coaxing nobe from some titled
demirep affecting the De Stael, they forget not only to be glorious
but even to be respectable. And this, too, not only for so petty a
gratification, but for one that rarely lasts above a London season. We
allow the low-born author to be the lion this year; but we dub him a
bore the next. We shut our doors upon his twice-told jests, and send for
the Prague minstrels to sing to us after dinner instead."

"However," said Godolphin, "it is only poets you find so foolish as to
be deceived by you. There is not a single prose writer of real genius so
absurd."

"And why is that?"

"Because," replied Godolphin, philosophising, "poets address themselves
more to women than men; and insensibly they acquire the weaknesses which
they are accustomed to address. A poet whose verses delight the women
will be found, if we closely analyse his character, to be very like a
woman himself."

"You don't love poets?" said Saville.

"The glory of old has departed from them. I mean less from their pages
than their minds. We have plenty of beautiful poets, but how little
poetry breathing of a great soul!"

Here the door opened, and a Mr. Glosson was announced. There entered a
little, smirking, neat-dressed man, prim as a lawyer or a house-agent.

"Ah, Glosson, is that you?" said Saville, with something like animation:
"sit down, my good sir,--sit down. Well! well! (rubbing his bands); what
news? what news?"

"Why, Mr. Saville, I think we may get the land from old ----. He has
the right of the job. I have been with him all this morning. He asks six
thousand pounds for it.

"The unconscionable dog! He got it from the crown for two."

"Ah, very true,--very true: but you don't see, sir,--you do