Since That Fatal But Delightful Night In Grosvenor Place, Mr. Harry
Foker's Heart Had Been In Such A State Of Agitation As You Would
Hardly Have Thought So Great A Philosopher Could Endure. When We
Remember What Good Advice He Had Given To Pen In Former Days, How An
Early Wisdom And Knowledge Of The World Had Manifested Itself In The
Gifted Youth; How A Constant Course Of Self-Indulgence, Such As
Becomes A Gentleman Of His Means And Expectations, Ought By Right To
Have Increased His Cynicism, And Made Him, With Every Succeeding Day
Of His Life, Care Less And Less For Every Individual In The World,
With The Single Exception Of Mr. Harry Foker, One May Wonder That He
Should Fall Into The Mishap To Which Most Of Us Are Subject Once Or
Twice In Our Lives, And Disquiet His Great Mind About A Woman. But
Foker, Though Early Wise, Was Still A Man. He Could No More Escape The
Common Lot Than Achilles, Or Ajax, Or Lord Nelson, Or Adam Our First
Father, And Now, His Time Being Come, Young Harry Became A Victim To
Love, The All-Conqueror.
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