When the first two dances were ended, Mr Escot, who did not choose to dance with any one but his adorable Cephalis, looking round for a convenient seat, discovered Mr Jenkison in a corner by the side of the Reverend Doctor Gaster, who was keeping excellent time with his nose to the lively melody of the harp and fiddle.  Mr Escot seated himself by the side of Mr Jenkison, and inquired if he took no part in the amusement of the night?

Mr Jenkison. No.  The universal cheerfulness of the company induces me to rise; the trouble of such violent exercise induces me to sit still.  Did I see a young lady in want of a partner, gallantry would incite me to offer myself as her devoted knight for half an hour:  but, as I perceive there are enough without me, that motive is null.  I have been weighing these points pro and con, and remain in statu quo.

Mr Escot. I have danced, contrary to my system, as I have done many other things since I have been here, from a motive that you will easily guess. (Mr Jenkison smiled.) I have great objections to dancing.  The wild and original man is a calm and contemplative animal.  The stings of natural appetite alone rouse him to action.  He satisfies his hunger with roots and fruits, unvitiated by the malignant adhibition of fire, and all its diabolical processes of elixion and assation; he slakes his thirst in the mountain-stream, summisgetai tae epituchousae, and returns to his peaceful state of meditative repose.

Mr Jenkison. Like the metaphysical statue of Condillac.

Mr Escot. With all its senses and purely natural faculties developed, certainly.  Imagine this tranquil and passionless being, occupied in his first meditation on the simple question of Where am I?  Whence do I come?  And what is the end of my existence? Then suddenly place before him a chandelier, a fiddler, and a magnificent beau in silk stockings and pumps, bounding, skipping, swinging, capering, and throwing himself into ten thousand attitudes, till his face glows with fever, and distils with perspiration:  the first impulse excited in his mind by such an apparition will be that of violent fear, which, by the reiterated perception of its harmlessness, will subside into simple astonishment.  Then let any genius, sufficiently powerful to impress on his mind all the terms of the communication, impart to him, that after a long process of ages, when his race shall have attained what some people think proper to denominate a very advanced stage of perfectibility, the most favoured and distinguished of the community shall meet by hundreds, to grin, and labour, and gesticulate, like the phantasma before him, from sunset to sunrise, while all nature is at rest, and that they shall consider this a happy and pleasurable mode of existence, and furnishing the most delightful of all possible contrasts to what they will call his vegetative state:  would he not groan from his inmost soul for the lamentable condition of his posterity?