shape is like an antelope
Upon the Eastern hills.'

But as a candid critic, I would ask you if the likeness can be
considered correct when you give her no legs? You will see at the ballet
that you are in error about women at present, Richard. That admirable
institution which our venerable elders have imported from Gallia for the
instruction of our gaping youth, will edify and astonish you. I assure
you I used, from reading The Pilgrim's Scrip, to imagine all sorts of
things about them, till I was taken there, and learnt that they are very
like us after all, and then they ceased to trouble me. Mystery is the
great danger to youth, my son! Mystery is woman's redoubtable weapon,
O Richard of the Ordeal! I'm aware that you've had your lessons in
anatomy, but nothing will persuade you that an anatomical figure means
flesh and blood. You can't realize the fact. Do you intend to publish
when you're in town? It'll be better not to put your name. Having one's
name to a volume of poems is as bad as to an advertising pill."

"I will send you an early copy, Adrian, when I publish," quoth Richard.
"Hark at that old blackbird, uncle."

"Yes!" Hippias quavered; looking up from the usual subject of his
contemplation, and trying to take an interest in him, "fine old fellow!"

"What a chuckle he gives out before he flies! Not unlike July
nightingales. You know that bird I told you of--the blackbird that had
its mate shot, and used to come to sing to old Dame Bakewell's bird from
the tree opposite. A rascal knocked it over the day before yesterday,
and the dame says her bird hasn't sung a note since."

"Extraordinary!" Hippias muttered abstractedly. "I remember the verses."

"But where's your moral?" interposed the wrathful Adrian. "Where's
constancy rewarded?

'The ouzel-cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill;
The rascal with his aim so true;
The Poet's little quill!'

"Where's the moral of that? except that all's game to the poet!
Certainly we have a noble example of the devotedness of the female, who
for three entire days refuses to make herself heard, on account of a
defunct male. I suppose that's what Ricky dwells on."

"As you please, my dear Adrian," says Richard, and points out larch-buds
to his uncle, as they ride by the young green wood.

The wise youth was driven to extremity. Such a lapse from his pupil's
heroics to this last verge of Arcadian coolness, Adrian could not