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Pelham — Volume 06 by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
page 15 of 70 (21%)
"There is something," resumed Guloseton, "in your countenance and manner,
at once so frank, lively, and ingenuous, that one is not only
prepossessed in your favour, but desirous of your friendship. I tell you,
therefore, in confidence, that nothing more amuses me than to see the
courtship I receive from each party. I laugh at all the unwise and
passionate contests in which others are engaged, and I would as soon
think of entering into the chivalry of Don Quixote, or attacking the
visionary enemies of the Bedlamite, as of taking part in the fury of
politicians. At present, looking afar off at their delirium, I can
ridicule it; were I to engage in it, I should be hurt by it. I have no
wish to become the weeping, instead of the laughing, philosopher. I sleep
well now--I have no desire to sleep ill. I eat well--why should I lose my
appetite? I am undisturbed and unattacked in the enjoyments best suited
to my taste--for what purpose should I be hurried into the abuse of the
journalists and the witticisms of pamphleteers? I can ask those whom I
like to my house--why should I be forced into asking those whom I do not
like? In fine, my good Pelham, why should I sour my temper and shorten my
life, put my green old age into flannel and physic, and become, from the
happiest of sages, the most miserable of fools? Ambition reminds me of
what Bacon says of anger--'It is like rain, it breaks itself upon that
which it falls on.' Pelham, my boy, taste the Chateau Margot."

However hurt my vanity might be in having so ill succeeded in my object,
I could not help smiling with satisfaction at my entertainer's principles
of wisdom. My diplomatic honour, however, was concerned, and I resolved
yet to gain him. If, hereafter, I succeeded, it was by a very different
method than I had yet taken; meanwhile, I departed from the house of this
modern Apicius with a new insight into the great book of mankind, and a
new conclusion from its pages; viz. that no virtue can make so perfect a
philosopher as the senses; there is no content like that of the epicure--
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