"I never heard his name," persevered the indefatigable Boreall;—"how do you spell it?"
"G O E T H E;" relisped modesty.
"Oh! Goty!" exclaimed the querist—"I know him well: he wrote the Sorrows of Werter."
"Did he indeed. Sir?" asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring face.
"Oh! don't you know that?" said Boreall;—"and poor stuff it is!" and here the worthy, and vulgar, landholder laughed loud and long.
"Lord Alhambra! I'll take a glass of Johannisberg with you, if the Marquess's wines are in the state they should be—
'The Crescent warriors sipped their sherbet spiced,
For Christian men the various wines were iced. '
I always think that those are the two most admirable lines in your Lordship's poem," said Vivian.
His Lordship did not exactly remember them: it would have been a wonder if he had:—but
