Vivian Grey

Grey’s mind at this period of his existence. In the plenitude of his ambition, h

ing a great man. The Services in war time are fit only for desperadoes (and that truly am I); but, in peace, are fit only for fools. The Church is more rational. Let me see: I should certainly like to act Wolsey; but the thousand and one chances again

tesmen who have never ruled, and heroes who have never conquered? Why have glorious philosophers died in a garret? and why have there been poets whose only admirer has been Nature in her echoes? It must be that these beings have thought only of themselves, and, constant and elaborate students of their own glorious natures, have forgotten or disdained the study of all others. Yes! we must mix with the herd; we mus

e, a herdsman, a hind, often even an animal. A mighty spirit has in Tradition, Time’s great moralist, perused ‘the wisdom of the ancients.’ Even in the same spirit, I would explain Jove’s te

baulks my fancy, shall I pass my life a moping misanthrope in an old chateau? Supposing I am in contact with this magnifico, am I prepared? Now, let me probe my very soul. Does my cheek blanch? I have the mind for the conception; and I can perform right skilfully