f death.

"For fear, however, that your heart of adamant should hold out against
all these perilous assaults, its vulnerability was tried in other
quarters. The Titian would naturally lead to Livinia's drawings. A
beautiful sketch of the lakes would be produced, with a gentle
intimation, what a sweet place Westmoreland must be to live in! When you
had exhausted all proper raptures on the art and on the artist, it would
be recollected, that as Westmoreland was so near Scotland, you would
naturally be fond of a reel. The reel of course succeeded." Then,
putting himself into an attitude and speaking theatrically, he
continued,

"Then universal Pan
Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance--

"Oh! no, I forgot universal Pan could not join, but he could admire. Then
all the perfections of all the nymphs burst on you in full blaze. Such a
concentration of attractions you never could resist! You are _but_ a
man, and now, doubtless, a lost man." Here he stopped to finish his
laugh, and I was driven reluctantly to acknowledge that his picture,
though a caricature, was, notwithstanding, a resemblance.

"And so," said Sir John, "you were brought under no power of incantation
by this dangerous visit. You will not be driven, like the tempted
Ithacan, to tie yourself to a mast, or to flee for safety from the
enchantment of these Sirens."

While we were at supper, with more gravity, he said, "Among the various
objects of ambition, there are few in life which bring less accession
to its comfort, than an unceasing struggle to rise to an elevation in
society very much above the level of our own condition, without being
aided by any stronger ascending power than mere vanity. Great talents,
of whatever kind, have a natural tendency to rise, and to lift their
possessor. The flame in mounting does but obey its impulse. But when
there is no energy more powerful than the passion to be great, destitute
of the gifts which confer greatness, the painful efforts of ambition are
like water, forced above its level by mechanical powers. It requires
constant exertions of art, to keep up what art first set a-going. Poor
Mrs. Fentham's head is perpetually at work to maintain the elevation she
has reached. And how little after all is she considered by those on
whose caresses her happiness depends! She has lost the esteem of her
original circle, where she might have been respected, without gaining
that of her high associates,