ow, but through
such a purgatory, could one win the paradise of her returning smiles?
All this, however, came to nothing; and simply because she positively
would _not_ quarrel. And the jealousy fell through, because there was no
decent subject for such a passion, unless it had settled upon an old
music-master whom lunacy itself could not adopt as a rival. The quarrel
meantime, which never prospered with the daughter, silently kindled on
my part towards the father. His offence was this. At dinner, I naturally
placed myself by the side of M., and it gave me great pleasure to touch
her hand at intervals. As M. was my cousin, though twice or even three
times removed, I did not feel taking too great a liberty in this little
act of tenderness. No matter if three thousand times removed, I said, my
cousin is my cousin: nor had I ever very much designed to conceal the
act; or if so, rather on her account than my own. One evening, however,
papa observed my manoeuvre. Did he seem displeased? Not at all: he
even condescended to smile. But the next day he placed M. on the side
opposite to myself. In one respect this was really an improvement;
because it gave me a better view of my cousin's sweet countenance. But
then there was the loss of the hand to be considered, and secondly there
was the affront. It was clear that vengeance must be had. Now there was
but one thing in this world that I could do even decently: but _that_ I
could do admirably. This was writing Latin hexameters. Juvenal, though
it was not very much of him that I had then read, seemed to me a divine
model. The inspiration of wrath spoke through him as through a Hebrew
prophet. The same inspiration spoke now in me. _Facit indignatio
versum_, said Juvenal. And it must be owned that Indignation has never
made such good verses since as she did in that day. But still, even to
me this agile passion proved a Muse of genial inspiration for a couple
of paragraphs: and one line I will mention as worthy to have taken its
place in Juvenal himself. I say this without scruple, having not a
shadow of vanity, nor on the other hand a shadow of false modesty
connected with such boyish accomplishments. The poem opened thus--

"Te nimis austerum; sacrae qui foedera mensae
Diruis, insector Satyrae reboante flagello."

But the line, which I insist upon as of Roman strength, was the closing
one of the next sentence. The general effect of the sentiment was--that
my clamorous wrath shou