my great work," he observes in triumph, "avance a pas de
geant." Harrington, to compose his "Oceana," severed himself from the
society of his friends. DESCARTES, inflamed by genius, hires an obscure
house in an unfrequented quarter at Paris, and there he passes two years,
unknown to his acquaintance. ADAM SMITH, after the publication of his
first work, withdrew into a retirement that lasted ten years: even Hume
rallies him for separating himself from the world; but by this means the
great political inquirer satisfied the world by his great work. And thus
it was with men of genius long ere Petrarch withdrew to his Val chiusa.

The interruption of visitors by profession has been feelingly lamented by
men of letters. The mind, maturing its speculations, feels the unexpected
conversation of cold ceremony chilling as March winds over the blossoms of
the Spring. Those unhappy beings who wander from house to house,
privileged by the charter of society to obstruct the knowledge they cannot
impart, to weary because they are wearied, or to seek amusement at the
cost of others, belong to that class of society which have affixed no
other idea to time than that of getting rid of it. These are judges not
the best qualified to comprehend the nature and evil of their depredations
in the silent apartment of the studious, who may be often driven to
exclaim, in the words of the Psalmist, "Verily I have cleansed my heart in
vain, and washed my hands in innocency: _for all the day long have I been
plagued, and chastened every morning._"

When Montesquieu was deeply engaged in his great work, he writes to a
friend:--"The favour which your friend Mr. Hein, often does me to pass his
mornings with me, occasions great damage to my work as well by his impure
French as the length of his details."--"We are afraid," said some of those
visitors to BAXTER, "that we break in upon your time."--"To be sure you
do," replied the disturbed and blunt scholar. To hint as gently as he
could to his friends that he was avaricious of time, one of the learned
Italians had a prominent inscription over the door of his study,
intimating that whoever remained there must join in his labours. The
amiable MELANCTHON, incapable of a harsh expression, when he received
these idle visits, only noted down the time he had expended, that he might
reanimate his industry, and not lose a day. EVELYN, continually importuned
by morning visitors, or "taken up by other impertinencies o