that I had spoken only through others, and like him, had hitherto seen by the glimmering light of translations.  It is upon such scanty data that young men reason; upon such slender materials do they build up their opinions.  It may be urged, however, that if they did not discourse freely with each other upon insufficient information—­for such alone can be acquired in the pleasant morning of life, and until they educate themselves—­they would be constrained to observe a perpetual silence, and to forego the numerous advantages that flow from frequent and liberal discussion.  I inquired of the vivacious stranger, as we sat over our wine and dessert, how long he had been at Oxford, how he liked it, &c.?  He answered my questions with a certain impatience, and resuming the subject of our discussion, he remarked that “Whether the literature of Germany, or of Italy, be the most original, or in the purest and most accurate taste, is of little importance! for polite letters are but vain trifling; the study of languages, not only of the modern tongues, but of Latin and Greek also, is merely the study of words and phrases; of the names of things; it matters not how they are called; it is surely far better to investigate things themselves.”  I inquired, a little bewildered, how this was to be effected?  He answered, “through the physical sciences, and especially through chemistry;” and raising his voice, his face flushing as he spoke, he discoursed with a degree of animation, that far outshone his zeal in defence of the Germans, of chemistry and chemical analysis.  Concerning that science, then so popular, I had merely a scanty and vulgar knowledge, gathered from elementary books, and the ordinary experiments of popular lecturers.  I listened, therefore, in silence to his eloquent disquisition, interposing a few brief questions only, and at long intervals, as to the extent of his own studies and manipulations.  As I felt, in truth, but a slight interest in the subject of his conversation, I had leisure to examine, and I may add, to admire, the appearance of my very extraordinary guest.  It was a sum of many contradictions.  His figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones and joints were large and strong.  He was tall, but he stooped so much, that he seemed of a low stature.  His clothes were expensive, and made according to the most approved mode of the day; but they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed.  His gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasionally even awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful.  His complexion was delicate, and almost feminine, of the purest red and white; yet he was tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, in shooting.  His features, his whole face, and particularly his head, were, in fact, unusually small; yet the last appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in fits of absence, and in the agonies (if I may use the word) of anxious thought,