intellectual man of pleasure so commonly forms; for pleasure has a
philosophy of its own--a sad, a fanciful, yet deep persuasion of the
vanity of all things--a craving after the bright ideal--

"The desire of the moth for the star."

Solomon's thirst for pleasure was the companion of his wisdom: satiety was
the offspring of the one--discontent of the other. But this philosophy,
though seductive, is of no wholesome nor usefnl character; it is the
philosophy of feelings, not principles--of the heart, not head. So with
Godolphin: he was too refined in his moralising to cling to what was
moral. The simply good and the simply bad he left for us plain folks to
discover. He was unattracted by the doctrines of right and wrong which
serve for all men; but he had some obscure and shadowy standard in his own
mind by which he compared the actions of others. He had imagination,
genius, even heart; was brilliant always, sometimes profound; graceful in
society, yet seldom social: a lonely man, yet a man of the world; generous
to individuals, selfish to the mass. How many fine qualities worse than
thrown away!

Who will not allow that he has met many such men?--and who will not follow
this man to his end?

One day (it was the last of Godolphin's protracted visit) as the sun was
waning to its close, and the time was unusually soft and tranquil,
Constance and Godolphin were returning slowly home from their customary
ride. They passed by a small inn, bearing the common sign of the
"Chequers," round which a crowd of peasants were assembled, listening to
the rude music which a wandering Italian boy drew from his guitar. The
scene was rustic and picturesque; and as Godolphin reined in his horse and