u don't comprehend me; I must
continue to move by my own impulse."

My father's pet book was the Colloquies of Erasmus; he was wont to say
that those Colloquies furnished life with illustrations in every page.
Out of the Colloquies of Erasmus he now answered the member.

"Rabirius, wanting his servant Syrus to get up," quoth my father, "cried
out to him to move. 'I do move,' said Syrus. 'I see you move,' replied
Rabirius, 'but you move nothing.' To return to the saffron bag--"

"Confound the saffron bag!" cried Trevanion, in a rage; and then
softening his look as he drew on his gloves, he turned to my mother and
said, with more politeness than was natural to, or at least customary
with, him,--

"By the way, my dear Mrs. Caxton, I should tell you that Lady Ellinor
comes to town to-morrow on purpose to call on you. We shall be here some
little time, Austin; and though London is so empty, there are still some
persons of note to whom I should like to introduce you and yours--"

"Nay," said my father; "your world and my world are not the same. Books
for me, and men for you. Neither Kitty nor I can change our habits, even
for friendship: she has a great piece of work to finish, and so have I.
Mountains cannot stir, especially when in labor; but Mahomet can come to
the mountain as often as he likes."

Mr. Trevanion insisted, and Sir Sedley Beaudesert mildly put in his
own claims; both boasted acquaintance with literary men whom my father
would, at all events, be pleased to meet. My father doubted whether he
could meet any literary men more eloquent than Cicero, or more amusing
than Aristophanes; and observed that if such did exist, he would rather
meet them in their books than in a drawing-room. In fine, he--was
immovable; and so also, with less argument, was Captain Roland.

Then Mr. Trevanion turned to me.

"Your son, at all events, should see something of the world."

My mother's soft eye sparkled.

"My dear friend, I thank you," said my father, touched; "and Pisistratus
and I will talk it over."

Our guests had departed. All four of us gathered to the open window, and
enjoyed in silence the cool air and the moonlight.

"Austin," said my mother at last, "I fear it is for my sake that you
refuse going amongst your old friends: you knew I should be frightened
by such fine people, and--"

"And we have been happy for more than eighteen years without them,
Kitty! My poor friends are not happy, and we are. To leave