no more; but if we can restore a gifted man, whose youth promised much,
to an honourable independence and a healthful mind, let us do so. Me,
Cesarini never can forgive; he will think I have robbed him of you. But
we men--the woman we have once loved, even after she rejects us, ever
has some power over us, and your eloquence, which has so often roused
me, cannot fail to impress a nature yet more excitable."

Maltravers, on quitting Florence at her own door, went home, summoned
his favourite servant, gave him Cesarini's address at Chelsea, bade him
find out where he was, if he had left his lodgings; and leave at his
present home, or (failing its discovery) at the "Travellers," a cover,
which he made his servant address, inclosing a bank-note of some amount.
If the reader wonder why Maltravers thus constituted himself the unknown
benefactor of the Italian, I must tell him that he does not understand
Maltravers. Cesarini was not the only man of letters whose faults he
pitied, whose wants he relieved. Though his name seldom shone in the
pompous list of public subscriptions--though he disdained to affect the
Maecenas and the patron, he felt the brotherhood of mankind, and a kind
of gratitude for those who aspired to rise or to delight their species.
An author himself, he could appreciate the vast debt which the world
owes to authors, and pays but by calumny in life and barren laurels
after death. He whose profession is the Beautiful succeeds only through
the Sympathies. Charity and compassion are virtues taught with
difficulty to ordinary men; to true genius they are but the instincts
which direct it to the destiny it is born to fulfil-viz., the discovery
and redemption of new tracts in our common nature. Genius--the Sublime
Missionary--goes forth from the serene Intellect of the Author to live
in the wants, the griefs, the infirmities of others, in order that it
may learn their language; and as its highest achievement is Pathos, so
its most absolute requisite is Pity!