‘Don’t touch,’ said I, ‘it is a bad habit. I have but one word to add: should you ever grow tired of authorship follow your first idea of getting into Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you want manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a teacher, you must take lessons of a master of elocution.’

‘That would never do!’ said my host; ‘I know myself too well to think of applying for assistance to any one. Were I to become a parliamentary orator, I should wish to be an original one, even if not above mediocrity. What pleasure should I take in any speech I might make, however original as to thought, provided the gestures I employed and the very modulation of my voice were not my own? Take lessons, indeed! why, the fellow who taught me, the professor, might be standing in the gallery whilst I spoke; and, at the best parts of my speech, might say to himself, "That gesture is mine - that modulation is mine." I could not bear the thought of such a thing.’

‘Farewell,’ said I, ‘and may you prosper. I have nothing more to say.’

I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned round suddenly; my friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of the gate.

‘He has been touching,’ said I, as I proceeded on my way; ‘I wonder what was the evil chance he wished to baffle.’