however, be rendering great injustice to the character I wish to
delineate. There were times when Vincent was earnestly engrossed in
discussion in which a jest rarely escaped him, and quotation was
introduced only as a serious illustration, not as a humorous peculiarity.
He possessed great miscellaneous erudition, and a memory perfectly
surprising for its fidelity and extent. He was a severe critic, and had a
peculiar art of quoting from each author he reviewed, some part that
particularly told against him. Like most men, in the theory of philosophy
he was tolerably rigid; in its practice, more than tolerably loose. By
his tenets you would have considered him a very Cato for stubbornness and
sternness: yet was he a very child in his concession to the whim of the
moment. Fond of meditation and research, he was still fonder of mirth and
amusement; and while he was among the most instructive, he was also the
boonest of companions. When alone with me, or with men whom he imagined
like me, his pedantry (for more or less, he always was pedantic) took
only a jocular tone; with the savan or the bel esprit, it became grave,
searching, and sarcastic. He was rather a contradicter than a favourer of
ordinary opinions: and this, perhaps, led him not unoften into paradox:
yet was there much soundness, even in his most vehement notions, and the
strength of mind which made him think only for himself, was visible in
all the productions it created. I have hitherto only given his
conversation in one of its moods; henceforth I shall be just enough
occasionally to be dull, and to present it sometimes to the reader in a
graver tone.

Buried deep beneath the surface of his character, was a hidden, yet a
restless ambition: but this was perhaps, at present, a secret even to
himself. We know not our own characters till time teaches us self-
knowledge: if we are wise, we may thank ourselves; if we are great, we
must thank fortune.