“Nay, say not so, fair stranger!” the youth replied, his face kindling as he spoke, and his eagle eyes flashing fire.  “Figs pall; but oh! the Beautiful never does.  Figs rot; but oh! the Truthful is eternal.  I was born, lady, to grapple with the Lofty and the Ideal.  My soul yearns for the Visionary.  I stand behind the counter, it is true; but I ponder here upon the deeds of heroes, and muse over the thoughts of sages.  What is grocery for one who has ambition?  What sweetness hath Muscovada to him who hath tasted of Poesy?  The Ideal, lady, I often think, is the true Real, and the Actual, but a visionary hallucination.  But pardon me; with what may I serve thee?”

“I came only for sixpenn’orth of tea-dust,” the girl said, with a faltering voice; “but oh, I should like to hear you speak on for ever!”

Only for sixpenn’orth of tea-dust?  Girl, thou camest for other things!  Thou lovedst his voice?  Siren! what was the witchery of thine own?  He deftly made up the packet, and placed it in the little hand.  She paid for her small purchase, and with a farewell glance of her lustrous eyes, she left him.  She passed slowly through the portal, and in a moment was lost in the crowd.  It was noon in Chepe.  And George de Barnwell was alone.

Vol.  II.

We have selected the following episodical chapter in preference to anything relating to the mere story of George Barnwell, with which most readers are familiar.

Up to this passage (extracted from the beginning of Vol.  II.) the tale is briefly thus: 

The rogue of a Millwood has come back every day to the grocer’s shop in Chepe, wanting some sugar, or some nutmeg, or some figs, half a dozen times in the week.

She and George de Barnwell have vowed to each other an eternal attachment.

This flame acts violently upon George.  His bosom swells with ambition.  His genius breaks out prodigiously.  He talks about the Good, the Beautiful, the Ideal, &c., in and out of all season, and is virtuous and eloquent almost beyond belief—­in fact like Devereux, or P. Clifford, or E. Aram, Esquires.

Inspired by Millwood and love, George robs the till, and mingles in the world which he is destined to ornament.  He outdoes all the dandies, all the wits, all the scholars, and all the voluptuaries of the age—­an indefinite period of time between Queen Anne and George II.—­dines with Curll at St. John’s Gate, pinks Colonel Charteris in a duel behind Montague House, is initiated into the intrigues of the Chevalier St. George, whom he entertains at his sumptuous pavilion at Hampstead, and likewise in disguise at the shop in Cheapside.

His uncle, the owner of the shop, a surly curmudgeon with very little taste for the True and Beautiful, has retired from business to the pastoral village in Cambridgeshire from which the noble Barnwells came.  George’s cousin Annabel is, of course, consumed with a secret passion for him.