To some minds solitude is depressing, to others it is congenial. It was the _former_ to our friend John Robinson; yet he had a large share of it in his chequered life. John--more familiarly known as Jack--was as romantic as his name was the reverse. To look at him you would have supposed that he was the most ordinary of common-place men, but if you had known him, as we did, you would have discovered that there was a deep, silent, but ever-flowing river of enthusiasm, energy, fervour--in a word, romance--in his soul, which seldom or never manifested itself in words, and only now and then, on rare occasions, flashed out in a lightning glance, or blazed up in a fiery countenance. For the most p…
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