THE PASSPORT. VERSAILLES.
Back I could not conceive why the Count de B- had gone so abruptly out of the room, any more than I could conceive why he had put the Shakespeare into his pocket. -
Mysteries which must explain themselves are not worth the loss of time which a conjecture about them takes up: 'twas better to read Shakespeare; so taking up "Much Ado About Nothing," I transported myself instantly from the chair I sat in to Messina in Sicily, and got so busy with Don Pedro, and Benedict, and Beatrice, that I thought not of Versailles, the Count, or the passport.
Sweet pliability of man's spirit, that can at once surrender itself to illusions, which cheat expectation and sorrow of their weary moments!--Long,--long since had ye number'd out my days, had I not trod so great a part of them upon this enchanted ground. When my way is too rough for my feet, or too steep for my strength, I get off it, to some smooth velvet path, which Fancy has scattered over with rosebuds of delights; and having taken a few turns in it, come back strengthened and refresh'd.--When evils press sore upon me, and there is no retreat from them in this world, then I take a new course;--I leave it,--and as I have a clearer idea of the Elysian fields than I have of heaven, I force myself, like AEneas, into them.--I see him meet the pensive shade of his forsaken Dido, and wish to recognise it;--I see the injured spirit wave her head, and turn off silent from the author of her miseries and dishonours;--I lose the feelings for myself in hers, and in those affections which were wont to make me mourn for her when I was at school.
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