“Iamcometoseehowyouarespendingyourholiday，”hesaid。“Not，Ihope，inthought？No，thatiswell:whileyoudrawyouwillnotfeellonely。Yousee，Imistrustyoustill，thoughyouhaveborneupwonderfullysofar。Ihavebroughtyouabookforeveningsolace，”andhelaidonthetableanewpublication—apoem:oneofthosegenuineproductionssooftenvouchsafedtothefortunatepublicofthosedays—thegoldenageofmodernliterature。Alas！thereadersofoureraarelessfavoured。Butcourage！Iwillnotpauseeithertoaccuseorrepine。Iknowpoetryisnotdead，norgeniuslost;norhasMammongainedpowerovereither，tobindorslay:theywillbothasserttheirexistence，theirpresence，theirlibertyandstrengthagainoneday。Powerfulangels，safeinheaven！theysmilewhensordidsoulstriumph，andfeebleonesweepovertheirdestruction。Poetrydestroyed？Geniusbanished？No！Mediocrity，no:donotletenvypromptyoutothethought。No;theynotonlylive，butreignandredeem:andwithouttheirdivineinfluencespreadeverywhere，youwouldbeinhell—thehellofyourownmeanness。
WhileIwaseagerlyglancingatthebrightpagesof“Marmion”（for“Marmion”itwas），St。Johnstoopedtoexaminemydrawing。Histallfiguresprangerectagainwithastart:hesaidnothing。Ilookedupathim:heshunnedmyeye。Iknewhisthoughtswell，andcouldreadhisheartplainly;atthemomentIfeltcalmerandcoolerthanhe:Ihadthentemporarilytheadvantageofhim，andIconceivedaninclinationtodohimsomegood，ifIcould。
“Withallhisfirmnessandself—control，”thoughtI，“hetaskshimselftoofar:lockseveryfeelingandpangwithin—expresses，confesses，impartsnothing。IamsureitwouldbenefithimtotalkalittleaboutthissweetRosamond，whomhethinksheoughtnottomarry:Iwillmakehimtalk。”
Isaidfirst，“Takeachair，Mr。Rivers。”Butheanswered，ashealwaysdid，thathecouldnotstay。“Verywell，”Iresponded，mentally，“standifyoulike;butyoushallnotgojustyet，Iamdetermined:solitudeisatleastasbadforyouasitisforme。I’lltryifIcannotdiscoverthesecretspringofyourconfidence，andfindanapertureinthatmarblebreastthroughwhichIcanshedonedropofthebalmofsympathy。”
“Isthisportraitlike？”Iaskedbluntly。