irrelevancy that seemed to stagger Elvira herself,--for she had been
coolly arguing the point of honor with him,--suddenly whips out a
poniard, and stabs his sister to the heart. The effect was as if a
murder had been committed in cold blood. The whole house rose up in
clamorous indignation, demanding justice. The feeling rose far above
hisses. I believe at that instant, if they could have got him, they
would have torn the unfortunate author to pieces. Not that the act
itself was so exorbitant, or of a complexion different from what they
themselves would have applauded upon another occasion in a Brutus or an
Appius,--but, for want of attending to Antonio's _words_, which palpably
led to the expectation of no less dire an event, instead of being
seduced by his _manner_, which seemed to promise a sleep of a less
alarming nature than it was his cue to inflict upon Elvira, they found
themselves betrayed into an accompliceship of murder, a perfect
misprision of parricide, while they dreamed of nothing less.

"M., I believe, was the only person who suffered acutely from the
failure; for G. thenceforward, with a serenity unattainable but by the
true philosophy, abandoning a precarious popularity, retired into his
fast hold of speculation,--the drama in which the world was to be his
tiring-room, and remote posterity his applauding spectators, at once,
and actors."

* * * * *

"The least shavings of gold are valuable, men say," says Archbishop
Leighton, in his masterly Commentary on Peter; and the veriest trifle
from the pen of such a writer as Charles Lamb should be highly prized by
all readers that are readers. Therefore I think it would be unwise in me
not to print Elia's Postscript to his "Chapter on Ears," and his