ever given him the most sensible pleasure? After a little
pause, the excellent old man said, 'Daphnus.' 'Daphnus!' repeated
I, 'who the devil is he?' 'Why,' answered Fontenelle, with tears of
gratitude in his benevolent eyes, 'I had some hypochondriacal ideas
that suppers were unwholesome; and Daphnus is an ancient physician, who
asserts the contrary; and declares,--think, my friend, what a charming
theory!--that the moon is a great assistant of the digestion!'"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Abbe de Chaulieu. "How like Fontenelle! what
an anomalous creature 'tis! He has the most kindness and the least
feeling of any man I ever knew. Let Hamilton find a pithier description
for him if he can!"

Whatever reply the friend of the _preux Grammont_ might have made was
prevented by the entrance of a young man of about twenty-one.

In person he was tall, slight, and very thin. There was a certain
affectation of polite address in his manner and mien which did not
quite become him; and though he was received by the old wits with great
cordiality, and on a footing of perfect equality, yet the inexpressible
air which denotes birth was both pretended to and wanting. This,
perhaps, was however owing to the ordinary inexperience of youth;
which, if not awkwardly bashful, is generally awkward in its assurance.
Whatever its cause, the impression vanished directly he entered into
conversation. I do not think I ever encountered a man so brilliantly,
yet so easily, witty. He had but little of the studied allusion, the
antithetical point, the classic metaphor, which chiefly characterize
the wits of my day. On the contrary, it was an exceeding and naive
simplicity, which gave such unrivalled charm and piquancy to his
conversation. And while I have not scrupled to stamp on my pages some
faint imitation of the peculiar dialogue of other eminent characters,
I must confess myself utterly unable to convey the smallest idea of his
method of making words irresistible. Contenting my efforts, therefore,
with describing his personal appearance,--interesting, because that
of the most striking literary character it has been my lot to meet,--I
shall omit his share in the remainder of the conversation I am
rehearsing, and beg the reader to recall that passage in Tacitus in
which the great historian says that, in the funeral of Junia, "the
images of Brutus and Cassius outshone all the rest, from the very
circumstance of their being the sole ones excluded fro