ses, as it were, an extra sense. And among what our
poet so eloquently calls 'the vast and noble scenes of Nature,' we find
the balm for the wounds we have sustained among the 'pitiful shifts of
policy;' for the attachment to solitude is the surest preservative from
the ills of life: and I know not if the Romans ever instilled, under
allegory, a sublimer truth than when they inculcated the belief that
those inspired by Feronia, the goddess of woods and forests, could walk
barefoot and uninjured over burning coals."

At this part of our conference, the bell swinging hoarsely through
the long avenues, and over the silent water, summoned us to the grand
occupation of civilized life; we rose and walked slowly towards the
house.

"Does not," said I, "this regular routine of petty occurrence, this
periodical solemnity of trifles, weary and disgust you? For my part,
I almost long for the old days of knight-errantry, and would rather be
knocked on the head by a giant, or carried through the air by a flying
griffin, than live in this circle of dull regularities,--the brute at
the mill."

"You may live even in these days," answered St. John, "without too tame
a regularity. Women and politics furnish ample food for adventure, and
you must not judge of all life by country life."

"Nor of all conversation," said I, with a look which implied a
compliment, "by the insipid idlers who fill our saloons. Behold them
now, gathered by the oriel window, yonder; precious distillers of
talk,--sentinels of society with certain set phrases as watchwords,
which they never exceed; sages, who follow Face's advice to Dapper,--

"'Hum thrice, and buzz as often.'"

CHAPTER VII.

A CHANGE OF PROSPECTS.--A NEW INSIGHT INTO THE CHARACTER OF THE HERO.--A
CONFERENCE BETWEEN TWO BROTHERS.

A DAY or two after the conversation recorded in my last chapter, St.
John, to my inexpressible regret, left us for London; however, we had
enjoyed several conferences together during his stay, and when we parted
it was with a pressing invitation on his side to visit him in London,
and a most faithful promise on mine to avail myself of the request.

No sooner was he fairly gone than I went to seek my uncle; I found him
reading one of Farquhar's comedies. Despite my sorrow at interrupting
him in so venerable a study, I was too full of my new plot to heed
breaking off that in the comedy. In very few words I made the good
knight understand that his description