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Wieland: or, the Transformation, an American Tale by Charles Brockden Brown
page 28 of 311 (09%)
Not contented with this, he was diligent in settling and
restoring the purity of the text. For this end, he collected
all the editions and commentaries that could be procured, and
employed months of severe study in exploring and comparing them.
He never betrayed more satisfaction than when he made a
discovery of this kind.

It was not till the addition of Henry Pleyel, my friend's
only brother, to our society, that his passion for Roman
eloquence was countenanced and fostered by a sympathy of tastes.
This young man had been some years in Europe. We had separated
at a very early age, and he was now returned to spend the
remainder of his days among us.

Our circle was greatly enlivened by the accession of a new
member. His conversation abounded with novelty. His gaiety was
almost boisterous, but was capable of yielding to a grave
deportment when the occasion required it. His discernment was
acute, but he was prone to view every object merely as supplying
materials for mirth. His conceptions were ardent but ludicrous,
and his memory, aided, as he honestly acknowledged, by his
invention, was an inexhaustible fund of entertainment.

His residence was at the same distance below the city as ours
was above, but there seldom passed a day without our being
favoured with a visit. My brother and he were endowed with the
same attachment to the Latin writers; and Pleyel was not behind
his friend in his knowledge of the history and metaphysics of
religion. Their creeds, however, were in many respects
opposite. Where one discovered only confirmations of his faith,
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