without some qualm; for in addressing his cousin he adheres,
in at least one more letter, to spelling number two. And
this, again, shows a man preoccupied about the manner of his
appearance even down to the name, and little willing to
follow custom. Again, he was proud, and justly proud, of his
powers in conversation. To no other man's have we the same
conclusive testimony from different sources and from every
rank of life. It is almost a commonplace that the best of
his works was what he said in talk. Robertson the historian
"scarcely ever met any man whose conversation displayed
greater vigour;" the Duchess of Gordon declared that he
"carried her off her feet;" and, when he came late to an inn,
the servants would get out of bed to hear him talk. But, in
these early days at least, he was determined to shine by any
means. He made himself feared in the village for his tongue.
He would crush weaker men to their faces, or even perhaps -
for the statement of Sillar is not absolute - say cutting
things of his acquaintances behind their back. At the church
door, between sermons, he would parade his religious views
amid hisses. These details stamp the man. He had no genteel
timidities in the conduct of his life. He loved to force his
personality upon the world. He would please himself, and
shine. Had he lived in the Paris of 1830, and joined his lot
with the Romantics, we can conceive him writing JEHAN for
JEAN, swaggering in Gautier's red waistcoat, and horrifying
Bourgeois in a public cafe with paradox and gasconnade.

A leading trait throughout his whole career was his desire to
be in love. NE FAIT PAS CE TOUR QUI VEUT. His affections
were often enough touched, but perhaps never engaged. He was