He seemed to have read every book
in every language, and to have mused over every line he had read. She
could not conceive how one, the tone of whose mind was so original
that it suggested on every topic some conclusion that struck instantly
by its racy novelty, could be so saturated with the learning and the
views of other men. Although they lived in unbroken solitude, and were
almost always together, not a day passed that she did not find herself
musing over some thought or expression of her father, and which broke
from his mind without effort, and as if by chance. Literature to
Herbert was now only a source of amusement and engaging occupation.
All thought of fame had long fled his soul. He cared not for being
disturbed; and he would throw down his Plato for Don Quixote, or close
his Aeschylus and take up a volume of Madame de Sevigne without a
murmur, if reminded by anything that occurred of a passage which might
contribute to the amusement and instruction of his wife and daughter.
Indeed, his only study now was to contribute to their happiness. For
him they had given up their country and society, and he sought, by his
vigilant attention and his various accomplishments, to render their
hours as light and pleasant as, under such circumstances, was
possible.
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