 one, and his ideas in this case expanded over the three large
pages and the inward foldings. He had simply said to Dorothea -
    »To be sure, I will write, my dear. He's a very clever young fellow - this
young Ladislaw - I daresay will be a rising young man. It's a good letter -
marks his sense of things, you know. However, I will tell him about Casaubon.«
    But the end of Mr. Brooke's pen was a thinking organ, evolving sentences,
especially of a benevolent kind, before the rest of his mind could well overtake
them. It expressed regrets and proposed remedies, which, when Mr. Brooke read
them, seemed felicitously worded - surprisingly the right thing, and determined
a sequel which he had never before thought of. In this case, his pen found it
such a pity that young Ladislaw should not have come into the neighbourhood just
at that time, in order that Mr. Brooke might make his acquaintance more fully,
and that they might go over the long-neglected Italian drawings together - it
also felt such an interest in a young man who was starting in life with a stock
of ideas - that by the end of the second page it had persuaded Mr. Brooke to
invite young Ladislaw, since he could not be received at Lowick, to come to
Tipton Grange. Why not? They could find a great many things to do together, and
this was a period of peculiar growth - the political horizon was expanding, and
- in short, Mr. Brooke's pen went off into a little speech which it had lately
reported for that imperfectly-edited organ the Middlemarch Pioneer. While Mr.
Brooke was sealing this letter, he felt elated with an influx of dim projects: -
a young man capable of putting ideas into form, the Pioneer purchased to clear
the pathway for a new candidate, documents utilised - who knew what might come
of it all? Since Celia was going to marry immediately, it would be very pleasant
to have a young fellow at table with him, at least for a time.
    But he went away without telling Dorothea what he had put into the letter,
for she was engaged with her husband, and - in fact, these things were of no
importance to her.
 

                                  Chapter XXXI

 How will you know the pitch of that great bell
 Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute
 Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal: listen close
 Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill:
 Then shall the huge bell tremble - then
