'I knew you would grant whatever was true. You are the advocate of truth; and I commend you, Idford mixed with political men, knew the temper of the times, was acquainted with various anecdotes, and gave you every information in his power. I know you are too candid to conceal or disguise the least fact. You would be as ready to condemn yourself as another. You have real dignity of mind. It gives you a certain superiority; a kind of grandeur; of real grandeur. It is your principle.'

'It ought to be.'

'No doubt. And I am sure you will own that I have stated the case fairly. I told you, Mr. Ellis, that I knew my friend Trevor. He has too much integrity to disown any thing I have said. I dare believe, were he to read the letters of Themistocles over at this instant, he would find it difficult to affirm, of any one sentence, that the thought might not possibly have been suggested in conversation by my friend Idford. I say might not possibly: for you both perceive I am very desirous on this occasion to be guarded.'

'It certainly is a difficult thing,' answered I, 'for any man positively to affirm he can trace the origin of any one thought; and recollect the moment when it first entered his mind.'

My lips were opening to proceed: but Glibly with great eagerness prevented me.

'I knew, my dear fellow, that your candor was equal to your understanding. Mr. Ellis, who hears all that passes, will do me the justice to say that I declared before you came what turn the affair would take.'

I was again going to speak, but he was determined I should not, and proceeded with his unconquerable volubility; purposely leading my mind to another train of thought.

'I am very glad indeed that the advertisement which appeared was not with your approbation. On recollection, I cannot conceive how I could for a moment suppose it was your own act. A man of the soundest understanding may be surprised into passion, and may write in a passion: but he will think again and again, and will be careful not to publish in a passion. And the delay which has taken place might have proved to me that you had thought; and had determined not to publish. Your countenance, when you disowned the advertisement just now, convinces me that I do you no more than justice, by supposing this of you.'

Here the artful orator thought proper to pause for a reply, and I answered, 'I own that I wrote in a spirit which I do not at present quite approve.'

'I know it. What you have said and what you have allowed have so much of liberality, cool recollection, and dispassionate honesty, that they are, as I knew they would be, very honourable to you.'