marita aversa jacuit." I spoil my quantities to

suit my notions.

I mean to be mistress: so if

you object, withdraw.

SILVESTER.-I do not object. Still how do you, with your High Church ideas, construe the words, "Love, honour, and obey"?

LOUISA. Surely it is not unfair, if you get two-thirds of the prescription: I will love and honour you, and you shall obey me.

SILVESTER.-A charming arrangement. I wonder how long will it last?

The boy and girl kissed each other, and emerged from Nightingale Lane.

CHAPTER X.

IN LOVE.

"Ulcus enim vivescit, et inveterascit alendo."

ILVESTER SILCHESTER told his father

SIL

everything the moment he got home that afternoon he looked for him, found him loitering on the lawn, and confessed what he had done.

The Squire laughed.

"Tell me all about it," he said. "In Nightingale Lane, eh, you young rascal? Well, it is almost time you began, and you could not find a nicer child than little Louisa ... though, by the way, she is nearly as big as you are, I should think. Come up to the library: I want a book."

The Squire stepped through the open window, brought out his favourite Lucretius, and translated to his son upon the lawn, in rough-and-ready hexameters, the last two or three hundred lines of the fourth book de Rerum Natura.

Silvester listened most reverently. It was by no means his first introduction to the great poetic interpreter of Epicurus. When the Squire had finished, and shut the book, there was silence for a few minutes. They were standing together, father and son, under a young Canadian oak, which, though about fifty years old only, was at least fifty feet high.

"Lucretius Carus was a wise poet, father,'

said the boy.

"He was when he said—

'Medio de fonte leporum

Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.'

You will find it out, my dear boy. You love Louisa Saint Osyth, and I don't believe

you could find anybody better worth loving between Tamar and Humber. But, remember this, she is a woman. Women must have faults. Men may be faultless, I believe, though I have not seen many specimens. Women, poor creatures, have always been imperfect since Eve found she could resist anything except temptation. The great poet I have just been turning into doubtful English is singularly right. From the mid-fount of delight comes something bitter which lurks in the flowers of its margin. That is a saying over which you may ponder.

Some of its corollaries

are obvious enough. The chief beauty of a woman is a key to such things as are not wholly beautiful in her nature. She is yielding to you may she not yield to others? She is high in spirit: may she not be a shrew and a scold? She is vivid and vivacious: may she not be a virago? Remember, Silvester, I do not make these remarks in reference to Louisa; I think her perfect: I have been half in love

with her myself, since she took to substituting nice little spiteful sermonettes of her own for my friend Arundel's marvellous metaphysical Yes: I like Louisa. But when she

sermons.

is Mistress Silchester, you will discover she has lots of faults."

"I don't think so, father," said the youngster. "Of course not. I should be sorry if you did. Fathers may lecture, but experience only can teach. In ipsis floribus angat. A woman's beauties become her defects. Now, tell me what you consider the most prominent point in Louisa Saint Osyth's character."

Silvester pondered. He had not begun an analysis of his lady-love. It was rather early for such scientific procedure, but he remembered their conversation in the Butts.

"The only thing I recollect in our final talk," said Silvester, "was about the words love, honour, obey. She said she would love and honour me, but that I must obey her."

The Squire laughed a mighty laugh.