"Leigh Hunt had said something about the islands
of the blest, or El Dorado, or the Millennium, and was flowing on his
bright and hopeful way, when Carlyle dropped some heavy tree-trunk
across Hunt's pleasant stream, and banked it up with philosophical
doubts and objections at every interval of the speaker's joyous
progress. But the unmitigated Hunt never ceased his overflowing
anticipations, nor the saturnine Carlyle his infinite demurs to those
finite flourishings. The listeners laughed and applauded by turns; and
had now fairly pitted them against each other, as the philosopher of
hopefulness and of the unhopeful. The contest continued with all that
ready wit and philosophy, that mixture of pleasantry and profundity,
that extensive knowledge of books and character, with their ready
application in argument or illustration, and that perfect ease and
good nature which distinguish both of these men. The opponents were so
well matched that it was quite clear the contest would never come to
an end. But the night was far advanced, and the party broke up.
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