Agentleman！
　　What，o’thewoolpack？orthesugar—chest？
　　Orlistsofvelvet？whichis’t，pound，oryard，
　　Youvendyourgentryby？
　　BEGGAR’SBUSH。
　　THEREarefewplacesmorefavorabletothestudyofcharacterthan
　　anEnglishcountrychurch。Iwasoncepassingafewweeksatthe
　　seatofafriend，whoresidedinthevicinityofone，theappearance
　　ofwhichparticularlystruckmyfancy。Itwasoneofthoserich
　　morselsofquaintantiquitywhichgivesuchapeculiarcharmto
　　Englishlandscape。Itstoodinthemidstofacountryfilledwith
　　ancientfamilies，andcontained，withinitscoldandsilentaisles，
　　thecongregateddustofmanynoblegenerations。Theinteriorwalls
　　wereincrustedwithmonumentsofeveryageandstyle。Thelight
　　streamedthroughwindowsdimmedwitharmorialbearings，richly
　　emblazonedinstainedglass。Invariouspartsofthechurchweretombs
　　ofknights，andhigh—borndames，ofgorgeousworkmanship，withtheir
　　effigiesincoloredmarble。Oneverysidetheeyewasstruckwithsome
　　instanceofaspiringmortality；somehaughtymemorialwhichhuman
　　pridehaderectedoveritskindreddust，inthistempleofthemost
　　humbleofallreligions。
　　Thecongregationwascomposedoftheneighboringpeopleofrank，who
　　satinpews，sumptuouslylinedandcushioned，furnishedwith
　　richly—gildedprayer—books，anddecoratedwiththeirarmsuponthepew
　　doors；ofthevillagersandpeasantry，whofilledthebackseats，
　　andasmallgallerybesidetheorgan；andofthepooroftheparish，
　　whowererangedonbenchesintheaisles。
　　Theservicewasperformedbyasnufflingwell—fedvicar，whohada
　　snugdwellingnearthechurch。Hewasaprivilegedguestatallthe
　　tablesoftheneighborhood，andhadbeenthekeenestfox—hunterinthe
　　country；untilageandgoodlivinghaddisabledhimfromdoingany
　　thingmorethanridetoseethehoundsthrowoff，andmakeoneat
　　thehuntingdinner。
　　Undertheministryofsuchapastor，Ifounditimpossibletoget
　　intothetrainofthoughtsuitabletothetimeandplace：so，
　　having，likemanyotherfeebleChristians，compromisedwithmy
　　conscience，bylayingthesinofmyowndelinquencyatanother
　　person’sthreshold，Ioccupiedmyselfbymakingobservationsonmy
　　neighbors。
　　IwasasyetastrangerinEngland，andcurioustonoticethe
　　mannersofitsfashionableclasses。Ifound，asusual，thatthere
　　wastheleastpretensionwheretherewasthemostacknowledgedtitle
　　torespect。Iwasparticularlystruck，forinstance，withthefamily
　　ofanoblemanofhighrank，consistingofseveralsonsand
　　daughters。Nothingcouldbemoresimpleandunassumingthantheir
　　appearance，Theygenerallycametochurchintheplainestequipage，
　　andoftenonfoot。Theyoungladieswouldstopandconverseinthe
　　kindestmannerwiththepeasantry，caressthechildren，andlisten
　　tothestoriesofthehumblecottagers。Theircountenanceswereopen
　　andbeautifullyfair，withanexpressionofhighrefinement，but，at
　　thesametime，afrankcheerfulness，andanengagingaffability。Their
　　brothersweretall，andelegantlyformed。Theyweredressed
　　fashionably，butsimply；withstrictneatnessandpropriety，but
　　withoutanymannerismorfoppishness。Theirwholedemeanorwaseasy
　　andnatural，withthatloftygrace，andnoblefrankness，whichbespeak
　　freebornsoulsthathaveneverbeencheckedintheirgrowthby
　　feelingsofinferiority。Thereisahealthfulhardinessaboutreal
　　dignity，thatneverdreadscontactandcommunionwithothers，
　　howeverhumble。Itisonlyspuriouspridethatismorbidand
　　sensitive，andshrinksfromeverytouch。Iwaspleasedtoseethe
　　mannerinwhichtheywouldconversewiththepeasantryaboutthose
　　ruralconcernsandfield—sports，inwhichthegentlemenofthis
　　countrysomuchdelight。Intheseconversationstherewasneither
　　haughtinessontheonepart，norservilityontheother；andyou
　　wereonlyremindedofthedifferenceofrankbythe。habitual
　　respectofthepeasant。
　　Incontrasttothesewasthefamilyofawealthycitizen，whohad
　　amassedavastfortune；and，havingpurchasedtheestateandmansion
　　ofaruinednoblemanintheneighborhood，wasendeavoringtoassume
　　allthestyleanddignityofanhereditarylordofthesoil。The
　　familyalwayscametochurchenprince。Theywererolled
　　majesticallyalonginacarriageemblazonedwitharms。Thecrest
　　glitteredinsilverradiancefromeverypartoftheharnesswherea
　　crestcouldpossiblybeplaced。Afatcoachman，inathree—cornered
　　hat，richlylaced，andaflaxenwig，curlingcloseroundhisrosy
　　face，wasseatedonthebox，withasleekDanishdogbesidehim。Two
　　footmen，ingorgeousliveries，withhugebouquets，andgold—headed
　　canes，lolledbehind。Thecarriageroseandsunkonitslongsprings
　　withpeculiarstatelinessofmotion。Theveryhorseschampedtheir
　　bits，archedtheirnecks，andglancedtheireyesmoreproudlythan
　　commonhorses；eitherbecausetheyhadcaughtalittleofthefamily
　　feeling，orwerereinedupmoretightlythanordinary。
　　Icouldnotbutadmirethestylewithwhichthissplendidpageant
　　wasbroughtuptothegateofthechurch—yard。Therewasavasteffect
　　producedattheturningofanangleofthewall；—agreatsmacking
　　ofthewhip，strainingandscramblingofhorses，glisteningof
　　harness，andflashingofwheelsthroughgravel。Thiswasthemomentof
　　triumphandvainglorytothecoachman。Thehorseswereurgedand
　　checkeduntiltheywerefrettedintoafoam。Theythrewouttheirfeet
　　inaprancingtrot，dashingaboutpebblesateverystep。Thecrowd
　　ofvillagerssaunteringquietlytochurch，openedprecipitatelytothe
　　rightandleft，gapinginvacantadmiration。Onreachingthegate，the
　　horseswerepulledupwithasuddennessthatproducedanimmediate
　　stop，andalmostthrewthemontheirhaunches。
　　Therewasanextraordinaryhurryofthefootmantoalight，pulldown
　　thesteps，andprepareeverythingforthedescentonearthofthis
　　augustfamily。Theoldcitizenfirstemergedhisroundredfacefrom
　　outthedoor，lookingabouthimwiththepompousairofaman
　　accustomedtoruleon’Change，andshaketheStockMarketwitha
　　nod。Hisconsort，afine，fleshy，comfortabledame，followedhim。
　　Thereseemed，Imustconfess，butlittleprideinhercomposition。She
　　wasthepictureofbroad，honest，vulgarenjoyment。Theworldwent
　　wellwithher；andshelikedtheworld。Shehadfineclothes，afine
　　house，afinecarriage，finechildren，everythingwasfineabouther：
　　itwasnothingbutdrivingabout，andvisitingandfeasting。Life
　　wastoheraperpetualrevel；itwasonelongLordMayor’sday。
　　Twodaughterssucceededtothisgoodlycouple。Theycertainlywere
　　handsome；buthadasuperciliousair，thatchilledadmiration，and
　　disposedthespectatortobecritical。Theywereultra—fashionable
　　indress；and，thoughnoonecoulddenytherichnessoftheir
　　decorations，yettheirappropriatenessmightbequestionedamidst
　　thesimplicityofacountrychurch。Theydescendedloftilyfromthe
　　carriage，andmovedupthelineofpeasantrywithastepthatseemed
　　daintyofthesoilittrodon。Theycastanexcursiveglancearound，
　　thatpassedcoldlyovertheburlyfacesofthepeasantry，untilthey
　　mettheeyesofthenobleman’sfamily，whentheircountenances
　　immediatelybrightenedintosmiles，andtheymadethemostprofound
　　andelegantcourtesies，whichwerereturnedinamannerthatshowed
　　theywerebutslightacquaintances。
　　Imustnotforgetthetwosonsofthisaspiringcitizen，whocameto
　　churchinadashingcurricle，withoutriders。Theywerearrayedinthe
　　extremityofthemode，withallthatpedantryofdresswhichmarksthe
　　manofquestionablepretensionstostyle。Theykeptentirelyby
　　themselves，eyeingeveryoneaskancethatcamenearthem，asif
　　measuringhisclaimstorespectability；yettheywerewithout
　　conversation，excepttheexchangeofanoccasionalcantphrase。They
　　evenmovedartificially；fortheirbodies，incompliancewiththe
　　capriceoftheday，hadbeendisciplinedintotheabsenceofall
　　easeandfreedom。Arthaddoneeverythingtoaccomplishthemasmen
　　offashion，butnaturehaddeniedthemthenamelessgrace。Theywere
　　vulgarlyshaped，likemenformedforthecommonpurposesoflife，
　　andhadthatairofsuperciliousassumptionwhichisneverseeninthe
　　truegentleman。
　　Ihavebeenratherminuteindrawingthepicturesofthesetwo
　　families，becauseIconsideredthemspecimensofwhatisoftentobe
　　metwithinthiscountry—theunpretendinggreat，andthearrogant
　　little。Ihavenorespectfortitledrank，unlessitbeaccompanied
　　withtruenobilityofsoul；butIhaveremarkedinallcountrieswhere
　　artificialdistinctionsexist，thattheveryhighestclassesare
　　alwaysthemostcourteousandunassuming。Thosewhoarewellassured
　　oftheirownstandingareleastapttotrespassonthatofothers；
　　whereasnothingissooffensiveastheaspiringsofvulgarity，which
　　thinkstoelevateitselfbyhumiliatingitsneighbor。
　　AsIhavebroughtthesefamiliesintocontrast，Imustnotice
　　theirbehaviorinchurch。Thatofthenobleman’sfamilywasquiet，
　　serious，andattentive。Notthattheyappearedtohaveanyfervorof
　　devotion，butratherarespectforsacredthings，andsacredplaces，
　　inseparablefromgoodbreeding。Theothers，onthecontrary，wereina
　　perpetualflutterandwhisper；theybetrayedacontinualconsciousness
　　offinery，andasorryambitionofbeingthewondersofarural
　　congregation。
　　Theoldgentlemanwastheonlyonereallyattentivetothe
　　service。Hetookthewholeburdenoffamilydevotionuponhimself，
　　standingboltupright，andutteringtheresponseswithaloudvoice
　　thatmightbeheardalloverthechurch。Itwasevidentthathewas
　　oneofthosethoroughchurchandkingmen，whoconnecttheideaof
　　devotionandloyalty；whoconsidertheDeity，somehoworother，ofthe
　　governmentparty，andreligion"averyexcellentsortofthing，that
　　oughttobecountenancedandkeptup。"
　　Whenhejoinedsoloudlyintheservice，itseemedmorebywayof
　　exampletothelowerorders，toshowthemthat，thoughsogreatand
　　wealthy，hewasnotabovebeingreligious；asIhaveseenaturtle—fed
　　aldermanswallowpubliclyabasinofcharitysoup，smackinghislips
　　ateverymouthful，andpronouncingit"excellentfoodforthepoor。"
　　Whentheservicewasatanend，Iwascurioustowitnesstheseveral
　　exitsofmygroups。Theyoungnoblemenandtheirsisters，astheday
　　wasfine，preferredstrollinghomeacrossthefields，chattingwith
　　thecountrypeopleastheywent。Theothersdepartedastheycame，
　　ingrandparade。Againweretheequipageswheeleduptothegate。
　　Therewasagainthesmackingofwhips，theclatteringofhoofs，and
　　theglitteringofharness。Thehorsesstartedoffalmostatabound；
　　thevillagersagainhurriedtorightandleft；thewheelsthrewupa
　　cloudofdust；andtheaspiringfamilywasraptoutofsightina
　　whirlwind。
　　THEEND。
　　1819—20
　　THESKETCHBOOK
　　THEINNKITCHEN
　　byWashingtonIrving
　　ShallInottakemineeaseinmineinn？
　　FALSTAFF。
　　DURINGajourneythatIoncemadethroughtheNetherlands，Ihad
　　arrivedoneeveningatthePommed’Or，theprincipalinnofasmall
　　Flemishvillage。Itwasafterthehourofthetabled’hote，sothat
　　Iwasobligedtomakeasolitarysupperfromtherelicsofits
　　amplerboard。Theweatherwaschilly；Iwasseatedaloneinoneendof
　　agreatgloomydining—room，and，myrepastbeingover，Ihadthe
　　prospectbeforemeofalongdullevening，withoutanyvisiblemeans
　　ofenliveningit。Isummonedminehost，andrequestedsomethingto
　　read；hebroughtmethewholeliterarystockofhishousehold，aDutch
　　familyBible，analmanacinthesamelanguage，andanumberofold
　　Parisnewspapers。AsIsatdozingoveroneofthelatter，reading
　　oldandstalecriticisms，myearwasnowandthenstruckwithbursts
　　oflaughterwhichseemedtoproceedfromthekitchen。Everyonethat
　　hastravelledonthecontinentmustknowhowfavoritearesortthe
　　kitchenofacountryinnistothemiddleandinferiororderof
　　travellers；particularlyinthatequivocalkindofweather，whena
　　firebecomesagreeabletowardevening。Ithrewasidethenewspaper，
　　andexploredmywaytothekitchen，totakeapeepatthegroupthat
　　appearedtobesomerry。Itwascomposedpartlyoftravellerswho
　　hadarrivedsomehoursbeforeinadiligence，andpartlyofthe
　　usualattendantsandhangers—onofinns。Theywereseatedrounda
　　greatburnishedstove，thatmighthavebeenmistakenforanaltar，
　　atwhichtheywereworshipping。Itwascoveredwithvariouskitchen
　　vesselsofresplendentbrightness；amongwhichsteamedandhisseda
　　hugecoppertea—kettle。Alargelampthrewastrongmassoflightupon
　　thegroup，bringingoutmanyoddfeaturesinstrongrelief。Itsyellow
　　rayspartiallyilluminedthespaciouskitchen，dyingduskilyawayinto
　　remotecorners；exceptwheretheysettledinmellowradianceonthe
　　broadsideofaflitchofbacon，orwerereflectedbackfrom
　　well—scouredutensils，thatgleamedfromthemidstofobscurity。A
　　strappingFlemishlass，withlonggoldenpendantsinherears，anda
　　necklacewithagoldenheartsuspendedtoit，wasthepresiding
　　priestessofthetemple。
　　Manyofthecompanywerefurnishedwithpipes，andmostofthemwith
　　somekindofeveningpotation。Ifoundtheirmirthwasoccasionedby
　　anecdotes，whichalittleswarthyFrenchman，withadryweazenface
　　andlargewhiskers，wasgivingofhisloveadventures；attheendof
　　eachofwhichtherewasoneofthoseburstsofhonestunceremonious
　　laughter，inwhichamanindulgesinthattempleoftrueliberty，an
　　inn。
　　AsIhadnobettermodeofgettingthroughatediousblustering
　　evening，Itookmyseatnearthestove，andlistenedtoavarietyof
　　travellers’tales，someveryextravagant，andmostverydull。Allof
　　them，however，havefadedfrommytreacherousmemoryexceptone，which
　　Iwillendeavortorelate。Ifear，however，itderiveditschief
　　zestfromthemannerinwhichitwastold，andthepeculiarairand
　　appearanceofthenarrator。HewasacorpulentoldSwiss，whohad
　　thelookofaveterantraveller。Hewasdressedinatarnishedgreen
　　travelling—jacket，withabroadbeltroundhiswaist，andapairof
　　overalls，withbuttonsfromthehipstotheankles。Hewasofa
　　full，rubicundcountenance，withadoublechin，aquilinenose，anda
　　pleasant，twinklingeye。Hishairwaslight，andcurledfromunder
　　anoldgreenvelvettravelling—capstuckononesideofhishead。He
　　wasinterruptedmorethanoncebythearrivalofguests，orthe
　　remarksofhisauditors；andpausednowandthentoreplenishhis
　　pipe；atwhichtimeshehadgenerallyaroguishleer，andaslyjoke
　　forthebuxomkitchen—maid。
　　Iwishmyreaderscouldimaginetheoldfellowlollinginahuge
　　arm—chair，onearmakimbo，theotherholdingacuriouslytwisted
　　tobaccopipe，formedofgenuineecumedemer，decoratedwithsilver
　　chainandsilkentassel—hisheadcockedononeside，anda
　　whimsicalcutoftheeyeoccasionally，asherelatedthefollowing
　　story。
　　THEEND。
　　1819—20
　　THESKETCHBOOK
　　THEMUTABILITYOFLITERATURE
　　ACOLLOQUYINWESTMINSTERABBEY
　　byWashingtonIrving
　　Iknowthatallbeneaththemoondecays，
　　Andwhatbymortalsinthisworldisbrought，
　　Intime’sgreatperiodshallreturntonought。
　　Iknowthatallthemuse’sheavenlylays，
　　Withtoilofspritewhicharesodearlybought，
　　Asidlesounds，offewornonearesought，
　　Thatthereisnothinglighterthanmerepraise。
　　DRUMMONDOFHAWTHORNDEN。
　　THEREarecertainhalf—dreamingmoodsofmind，inwhichwenaturally
　　stealawayfromnoiseandglare，andseeksomequiethaunt，wherewe
　　mayindulgeourreveriesandbuildouraircastlesundisturbed。In
　　suchamoodIwasloiteringabouttheoldgraycloistersof
　　WestminsterAbbey，enjoyingthatluxuryofwanderingthoughtwhichone
　　isapttodignifywiththenameofreflection；whensuddenlyan
　　interruptionofmadcapboysfromWestminsterschool，playingat
　　foot—ball，brokeinuponthemonasticstillnessoftheplace，making
　　thevaultedpassagesandmoulderingtombsechowiththeirmerriment。I
　　soughttotakerefugefromtheirnoisebypenetratingstilldeeper
　　intothesolitudesofthepile，andappliedtooneofthevergers
　　foradmissiontothelibrary。Heconductedmethroughaportalrich
　　withthecrumblingsculptureofformerages，whichopenedupona
　　gloomypassageleadingtothechapter—houseandthechamberinwhich
　　doomsdaybookisdeposited。Justwithinthepassageisasmalldooron
　　theleft。Tothisthevergerappliedakey；itwasdoublelocked，
　　andopenedwithsomedifficulty，asifseldomused。Wenowascended
　　adarknarrowstaircase，and，passingthroughaseconddoor，entered
　　thelibrary。
　　Ifoundmyselfinaloftyantiquehall，theroofsupportedby
　　massivejoistsofoldEnglishoak。Itwassoberlylightedbyarow
　　ofGothicwindowsataconsiderableheightfromthefloor，andwhich
　　apparentlyopenedupontheroofsofthecloisters。Anancient
　　pictureofsomereverenddignitaryofthechurchinhisrobeshung
　　overthefireplace。Aroundthehallandinasmallgallerywerethe
　　books，arrangedincarvedoakencases。Theyconsistedprincipallyof
　　oldpolemicalwriters，andweremuchmorewornbytimethanuse。In
　　thecentreofthelibrarywasasolitarytablewithtwoorthreebooks
　　onit，aninkstandwithoutink，andafewpensparchedbylongdisuse。
　　Theplaceseemedfittedforquietstudyandprofoundmeditation。It
　　wasburieddeepamongthemassivewallsoftheabbey，andshutupfrom
　　thetumultoftheworld。Icouldonlyhearnowandthentheshouts
　　oftheschool—boysfaintlyswellingfromthecloisters，andthe
　　soundofabelltollingforprayers，echoingsoberlyalongtheroofs
　　oftheabbey。Bydegreestheshoutsofmerrimentgrewfainterand
　　fainter，andatlengthdiedaway；thebellceasedtotoll，anda
　　profoundsilencereignedthroughtheduskyhall。
　　Ihadtakendownalittlethickquarto，curiouslyboundin
　　parchment，withbrassclasps，andseatedmyselfatthetableina
　　venerableelbow—chair。Insteadofreading，however，Iwasbeguiled
　　bythesolemnmonasticair，andlifelessquietoftheplace，intoa
　　trainofmusing。AsIlookedaroundupontheoldvolumesintheir
　　moulderingcovers，thusrangedontheshelves，andapparentlynever
　　disturbedintheirrepose，Icouldnotbutconsiderthelibraryakind
　　ofliterarycatacomb，whereauthors，likemummies，arepiously
　　entombed，andlefttoblackenandmoulderindustyoblivion。
　　Howmuch，thoughtI，haseachofthesevolumes，nowthrustaside
　　withsuchindifference，costsomeachinghead！howmanywearydays！
　　howmanysleeplessnights！Howhavetheirauthorsburiedthemselvesin
　　thesolitudeofcellsandcloisters；shutthemselvesupfromthe
　　faceofman，andthestillmoreblessedfaceofnature；anddevoted
　　themselvestopainfulresearchandintensereflection！Andallfor
　　what？tooccupyaninchofdustyshelf—tohavethetitleoftheir
　　worksreadnowandtheninafutureage，bysomedrowsychurchmanor
　　casualstragglerlikemyself；andinanotheragetobelost，evento
　　remembrance。Suchistheamountofthisboastedimmortality。Amere
　　temporaryrumor，alocalsound；likethetoneofthatbellwhichhas
　　justtolledamongthesetowers，fillingtheearforamoment—
　　lingeringtransientlyinecho—andthenpassingawaylikeathingthat
　　wasnot！
　　WhileIsathalfmurmuring，halfmeditatingtheseunprofitable
　　speculationswithmyheadrestingonmyhand，Iwasthrummingwiththe
　　otherhanduponthequarto，untilIaccidentallyloosenedthe
　　clasps；when，tomyutterastonishment，thelittlebookgavetwoor
　　threeyawns，likeoneawakingfromadeepsleep；thenahuskyhem；and
　　atlengthbegantotalk。Atfirstitsvoicewasveryhoarseand
　　broken，beingmuchtroubledbyacobwebwhichsomestudiousspiderhad
　　wovenacrossit；andhavingprobablycontractedacoldfromlong
　　exposuretothechillsanddampsoftheabbey。Inashorttime，
　　however，itbecamemoredistinct，andIsoonfounditanexceedingly
　　fluentconversablelittletome。Itslanguage，tobesure，wasrather
　　quaintandobsolete，anditspronunciation，what，inthepresent
　　day，wouldbedeemedbarbarous；butIshallendeavor，asfarasIam
　　able，torenderitinmodernparlance。
　　Itbeganwithrailingsabouttheneglectoftheworld—aboutmerit
　　beingsufferedtolanguishinobscurity，andothersuchcommonplace
　　topicsofliteraryrepining，andcomplainedbitterlythatithadnot
　　beenopenedformorethantwocenturies。Thatthedeanonlylookednow
　　andthenintothelibrary，sometimestookdownavolumeortwo，
　　trifledwiththemforafewmoments，andthenreturnedthemtotheir
　　shelves。"Whataplaguedotheymean，"saidthelittlequarto，whichI
　　begantoperceivewassomewhatcholeric，"whataplaguedotheymean
　　bykeepingseveralthousandvolumesofusshutuphere，andwatchedby
　　asetofoldvergers，likesomanybeautiesinaharem，merelytobe
　　lookedatnowandthenbythedean？Bookswerewrittentogive
　　pleasureandtobeenjoyed；andIwouldhavearulepassedthatthe
　　deanshouldpayeachofusavisitatleastonceayear；orifheis
　　notequaltothetask，letthemonceinawhileturnloosethewhole
　　schoolofWestminsteramongus，thatatanyratewemaynowandthen
　　haveanairing。"
　　"Softly，myworthyfriend，"repliedI，"youarenotawarehowmuch
　　betteryouareoffthanmostbooksofyourgeneration。Bybeingstored
　　awayinthisancientlibrary，youarelikethetreasuredremainsof
　　thosesaintsandmonarchs，whichlieenshrinedintheadjoining
　　chapels；whiletheremainsofyourcontemporarymortals，lefttothe
　　ordinarycourseofnature，havelongsincereturnedtodust。"
　　"Sir，"saidthelittletome，rufflinghisleavesandlookingbig，"I
　　waswrittenforalltheworld，notforthebookwormsofanabbey。I
　　wasintendedtocirculatefromhandtohand，likeothergreat
　　contemporaryworks；butherehaveIbeenclaspedupformorethan
　　twocenturies，andmighthavesilentlyfallenapreytotheseworms
　　thatareplayingtheveryvengeancewithmyintestines，ifyouhadnot
　　bychancegivenmeanopportunityofutteringafewlastwords
　　beforeIgotopieces。"
　　"Mygoodfriend，"rejoinedI，"hadyoubeenlefttothe
　　circulationofwhichyouspeak，youwouldlongerethishavebeenno
　　more。Tojudgefromyourphysiognomy，youarenowwellstrickenin
　　years：veryfewofyourcontemporariescanbeatpresentinexistence；
　　andthosefewowetheirlongevitytobeingimmuredlikeyourselfin
　　oldlibraries；which，suffermetoadd，insteadoflikeningtoharems，
　　youmightmoreproperlyandgratefullyhavecomparedtothose
　　infirmariesattachedtoreligiousestablishments，forthebenefitof
　　theoldanddecrepit，andwhere，byquietfosteringandnoemployment，
　　theyoftenenduretoanamazinglygood—for—nothingoldage。Youtalk
　　ofyourcontemporariesasifincirculation—wheredowemeetwith
　　theirworks？whatdowehearofRobertGroteste，ofLincoln？Noone
　　couldhavetoiledharderthanheforimmortality。Heissaidtohave
　　writtennearlytwohundredvolumes。Hebuilt，atitwere，apyramidof
　　bookstoperpetuatehisname：but，alas！thepyramidhaslongsince
　　fallen，andonlyafewfragmentsarescatteredinvariouslibraries，
　　wheretheyarescarcelydisturbedevenbytheantiquarian。Whatdo
　　wehearofGiraldusCambrensis，thehistorian，antiquary，philosopher，
　　theologian，andpoet？Hedeclinedtwobishoprics，thathemightshut
　　himselfupandwriteforposterity；butposterityneverinquiresafter
　　hislabors。WhatofHenryofHuntingdon，who，besidesalearned
　　historyofEngland，wroteatreatiseonthecontemptoftheworld，
　　whichtheworldhasrevengedbyforgettinghim？Whatisquotedof
　　JosephofExeter，styledthemiracleofhisageinclassical
　　composition？Ofhisthreegreatheroicpoemsoneislostforever，
　　exceptingamerefragment；theothersareknownonlytoafewofthe
　　curiousinliterature；andastohisloveversesandepigrams，they
　　haveentirelydisappeared。WhatisincurrentuseofJohnWallis，
　　theFranciscan，whoacquiredthenameofthetreeoflife？Of
　　WilliamofMalmsbury；—ofSimeonofDurham；—ofBenedictof
　　Peterborough；—ofJohnHanvillofSt。Albans；—of—"