 that, an thou lovest me - And yet, I dare say, ye may
unwittingly speak most correct truth in both instances, in despite of the toga
of the historian and the blue gown of the mendicant.«
    »Gallantly counselled! - Well, I will do my best - your kindness will assist
me with local information.«
    »Will I not, man? - why, I will write the critical and historical notes on
each canto, and draw out the plan of the story myself. I pretend to some
poetical genius, Mr. Lovel, only I was never able to write verses.«
    »It is a pity, sir, that you should have failed in a qualification somewhat
essential to the art.«
    »Essential? - not a whit - it is the mere mechanical department. A man may
be a poet without measuring spondees and dactyls like the ancients, or clashing
the ends of lines into rhyme like the moderns, as one may be an architect though
unable to labour like a stone-mason - Dost think Palladio or Viturvius ever
carried a hod?«
    »In that case, there should be two authors to each poem - one to think and
plan, another to execute.«
    »Why, it would not be amiss; at any rate, we'll make the experiment; - not
that I would wish to give my name to the public - assistance from a learned
friend might be acknowledged in the preface after what flourish your nature will
- I am a total stranger to authorial vanity.«
    Lovel was much entertained by a declaration not very consistent with the
eagerness wherewith his friend seemed to catch at an opportunity of coming
before the public, though in a manner which rather resembled stepping up behind
a carriage than getting into one. The Antiquary was indeed uncommonly delighted;
for, like many other men who spend their lives in obscure literary research, he
had a secret ambition to appear in print, which was checked by cold fits of
diffidence, fear of criticism, and habits of indolence and procrastination.
»But,« thought he, »I may, like a second Teucer, discharge my shafts from behind
the shield of my ally; and, admit that he should not prove to be a first-rate
poet, I am in no shape answerable for his deficiencies, and the good notes may
very probably help off an indifferent text. But he is - he must be a good poet;
he has the real Parnassian abstraction - seldom answers a question till it is
twice repeated - drinks his tea scalding, and eats without knowing what he is
