for either of us. For rich idle people, I dare say, it may be as
innocent an amusement as any other, but I find it a sad enervator."

"And I just the reverse,--a horrible stimulant! Caxton, do you know
that, ungracious as it will sound to you, I am growing impatient of this
`honorable independence'? What does it lead to? Board, clothes, and
lodging,--can it ever bring me anything more?"

"At first, Vivian, you limited your aspirations to kid gloves and a
cabriolet: it has brought the kid gloves already; by and by it will
bring the cabriolet!"

"Our wishes grow by what they feed on. You live in the great world, you
can have excitement if you please it; I want excitement, I want the
world, I want room for my mind, man! Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, and sympathize with you, my poor Vivian; but it will all
come. Patience! as I preached to you while dawn rose so comfortless
over the streets of London. You are not losing time. Fill your mind;
read, study, fit yourself for ambition. Why wish to fly till you have
got your wings? Live in books now; after all, they are splendid
palaces, and open to us all, rich and poor."

"Books, books! Ah! you are the son of a book-man. It is not by books
that men get on in the world, and enjoy life in the mean while."

"I don't know that; but, my good fellow, you want to do both,--get on in
the world as fast as labor can, and enjoy life as pleasantly as
indolence may. You want to live like the butterfly, and yet have all
the honey of the bee; and, what is the very deuce of the whole, even as