concentrated and wrapped in the glorious pages of the Athenian; while,
with keen and almost inspired curiosity, he searched, and followed up,
and meditated upon, the definite mystery, the indefinite development;
while his spirit alternately bowed in trembling and in admiration, as he
seemed to be listening to the secrets of the Universe revealed in the
glorious melodies of an immortal voice; wonderful is it, I say, that the
writer, the study of whose works appeared to the young scholar, in the
revelling of his enthusiasm, to be the sole object for which man was
born and had his being, was the cause by which Vivian Grey was saved
from being all his life a dreaming scholar.

Determined to spare no exertions, and to neglect no means, by which he
might enter into the very penetralia of his mighty master's meaning,
Vivian determined to attack the latter Platonists. These were a race of
men, of whose existence he knew merely by the references to their
productions which were sprinkled in the commentaries of his "best
editions." In the pride of boyish learning, Vivian had limited his
library to Classics, and the proud leaders of the later schools did not
consequently grace his diminutive bookcase. In this dilemma he flew to
his father, and confessed by his request that his favourites were not
all-sufficient.

"Father! I wish to make myself master of the latter Platonists. I want
Plotinus, and Porphyry, and Iamblichus, and Syrirnus, and Maximus
Tyrius, and Proclus, and Hierocles, and Sallustius, and Damascius."

Mr. Grey stared at his son, and laughed.

"My dear Vivian! are you quite convinced that the authors you ask for
are all pure Platonists? or have not some of them placed the great end