to find our way by star-light: and even now I think I see some "bright particular" stars that will not wait for darkness to be somewhat seen. Ah, beautiful creations! it is not in guiding us over the seas of our little planet, but out of the dark waters of our own perturbed minds, that we may make to ourselves the most of your significance.

We returned home, not sorry to be mostly silent as we went, and glad that our friendship was so assured that we could be silent, without the slightest danger of offence.

9

CHAPTER III.

To enable my readers to understand this chapter, I must first trouble them with some domestic circumstances. Whether it was from our excursion to the downs, mentioned in the last chapter, or from some other cause I do not know, but at this time I became so unwell as to be unable to leave my room. It would have been a great deprivation to me not to know something about the conversation before and after Milverton's next reading, so I resolved to send over to Worth Ashton one who might take my place and bring me some account of what was said.

My home is graced by the presence of my sister, Mrs. Daylmer, and her daughter Lucy. Daylmer and I were fellow-collegians and intimate friends, and our friendship led to a union between the families. Men of my standing may recollect what a scholar Daylmer was; and though it is a trivial thing to recall, yet some may remember a translation of his into Latin Alcaics of that magnificent chorus in the "Antigone" about love,* which translation made

* Ἔρως ἀνίκατε μάχαν — Soph. Ant. v. 781.

some noise amongst us when we were freshmen. Daylmer died young, leaving some few results of his scholarship, which yet remain with me in manuscript. Ever since his death my sister and my niece have lived with me. My sister manages the house for me, and does not leave me much to do as regards the management of myself. But I must not complain, as it is a great thing to be loved and cared for by anybody; and then too, my sister (her name is Marian) is always so right and reasonable, as she proves to me that what I want now is inconsistent with what I wanted on some other occasion, or would not do for me upon some former showing of mine, or would not be proper with my position in the parish. Somehow I seem to walk between walls which I am said to have helped to build myself. I should rather like to look into the open country sometimes. However, Marian is a good creature, and totally unconscious of wishing to manage any one. I do not know what I should do without her. Did she ever look into a book, I would not say all that I have just said, but it is quite confidential with the public.

My niece Lucy is my darling. I have educated her myself. I hope I have not done unwisely, but I have taught her Greek; for I thought she should know something of the study in which her father excelled, and be able to form some notion of his great powers of criticism. We

often talk of him, and I think we are able to do this much better as she knows more of what were his favorite studies.

Lucy has long been a great favorite of Milverton's; and in former days (for he had then too the same theory he has given us in his essay on education, of the advantage of some training for women that should sternly exercise the reason) he essayed, I recollect, to teach her Euclid, which, considering he expected the most unreasonably swift apprehension and progress, went off very well. I knew he would not take it ill, if I sent her over in my place; and that she would bring me back some report of the conversation. In this she seems to have succeeded very well.

Milverton and Ellesmere were already out upon the lawn expecting me, when Lucy and her mother entered the gate at Worth Ashton.

ELLESMERE. This is an honor, Miss Daylmer. "Gratior it dies." Latin is not rude in the presence of learned young ladies, you know.

MILVERTON. I hope, Mrs. Daylmer, there is nothing the matter with Dunsford.

MRS. DAYLMER. He is not well, I am sorry to say, and so sends Lucy to pick up what she can for him of your talk to bring back and amuse him with. I know you gentlemen will not care to have me with you: so I will go and chat with Phoebe, and see the new dairy. How can you both be so foolish as to be lying on the grass, as you were when we came in? That is, I am

sure, the way in which my brother gets ill, and I shall not allow him to come over, if you don't take more care of him.

ELLESMERE. My good Mrs. Daylmer, if some twenty years ago you had kept our friend out of the Combination Room at College, it might have been more to the purpose; for my opinion is that it is the gout and nothing else which

LUCY. No, Mr. Ellesmere, my uncle says not.

ELLESMERE. I know he does not choose to call it by that name. I do not see why not. I always thought it was very respectable in the country to have the gout. But we have a long chapter before us, as I see from that solemn bulk of paper, and so we must not talk any more just now. You do not know, Miss Daylmer, what you have before you to endure, or you would have preferred to have had, yourself, a fit of the gout – at least such a fit as would not have prevented you from going to a dance the next day.

MILVERTON. Do not be frightened, Lucy; the subject for to-day's reading shall not be very terrific in the way of dulness; but shall rather touch on matters which any lady may like to consider, and the regulation of which lies entirely within her province.

ELLESMERE (muttering to himself). "The suckling of fools," an essay by Leonard Milverton; "The chronicling of small beer," an historical attempt by John Ellesmere. I am merely running over in my mind the catalogue of essays we keep by us, Miss Daylmer, for the edification of our female friends, when they are good enough to honor our readings with their presence. MILVERTON. It is on the "art of living."