602 The Conversazione. [June; 
‘ e 
Fourtn Group. 
Professor §. t. I confess I am one of those who think that the 
popular voice ought to prevail when it is clearly and distinctly pro- 
nounced. I would yield nothing to mere clamour ; nothing to faction ; 
but to the public will, every thing. In short, I am almost democratic, 
enough to assert that the “ vor populi” is the “vox Dei.” 
The Rev. Mr. H.- tt. You remind me of an anecdote I heard, when 
I was a very young man, at the University; and which I have never 
since forgotten, so strong an impression did it produce. It wasa reply 
made to the celebrated John Wesley, by his sister. Wesley had been 
insisting, in a company where she was present, (much in the same wa 
as you have been doing) that the will of the many should be the law of 
the whole; and avowing that the “ vow populi, vor Dei,” was his motto. 
** Yes, brother,” she said, with a quiet emphasis of manner, “and the 
vox populi, cried aloud, cruciry! cruciry!” When we consider to 
whom this reply was made,—to a man who was exalting himself by 
preaching the doctrines of Christianity in what he devoutly believed to 
be their purest and most acceptable form,—it is hardly possible to con- 
ceive a finer rebuke. 
Mr. C——p. Well, I don’t see any thing so fine in it ; I think I could 
have said the same myself, and much better. 
The Rev. Mr. H. tt. (laughing.) You are like an Irish barrister 
I have heard of. He had the failing of Goldsmith, in an emi- 
nent degree: that of believing he could do evey thing better than any 
other person. This propensity exhibited itself ludicrously enough on 
one occasion, when a violent influenza prevailed in Dublin. A friend 
who happened to meet him, mentioned a particular acquaintance, and 
observed, that he had had the influenza very bad. “Bad!” exclaimed the 
other, ‘“‘ I don’t know how bad he has had it, but I am _ sure I have had 
it quite as bad as he, or any one else.” Not quite, I think,” replied his — 
friend, “for poor Mr. Gillicuddy is dead.”—«< Well,” rejoined our 
tenacious optimist, “ and what of that? I could have died too, if I had 
liked it.” t 
Mr. C——>p. (Alitile sulky.) I don’t see any thing in that either to 
laugh at: it’s very well; but nothing particular. 
[ Eleven o’Clock. Groups grow thin, and disappear.—The stream sets in 
for the staircase.—Some saunter along, as if admiring the pictures which 
are hung on each side, and make a sudden exit when opposite the door.— 
Others button their coats, and put on their walking gloves, with a cool de- 
termination to go home.—A few, who have the felicity of knowing the host, 
(who is standing with his back to the fire-place, to keep the night arr from 
three coals that are still burning in one corner) deliberately approach, and 
bow good night, or familiarly shake hands with him, according to their 
respective degrees of intimacy.—The opening and shuiting of the street door 
is heard every minute. } : 
ExreuntT OMNES. 
