d scarf."

"Thank you, there is a good Flora. And oh! I finished a frock all but
two stitches. Where is it gone? Go on, all of you, I'll overtake you:

"Purer than breath of earthly fame,
Is losing self in a glorious aim.

"Is that better, Norman?"

"You'll drive us out of patience," said Flora, tying the handkerchief
round Ethel's throat, and pulling out the fingers of her gloves, which,
of course, were inside out; "are you ready?"

"Oh, my frock! my frock! There 'tis--three stitches--go on, and I'll
come," said Ethel, seizing a needle, and sewing vehemently at a little
pink frock. "Go on, Miss Winter goes slowly up the hill, and I'll
overtake you."

"Come, Norman, then; it is the only way to make her come at all."

"I shall wait for her," said Norman. "Go on, Flora, we shall catch you
up in no time;" and, as Flora went, he continued, "Never mind your aims
and fames and trumpery English rhymes. Your verses will be much the
best, Ethel; I only went on a little about Mount Vesuvius and the
landscape, as Alan described it the other day, and Decius taking a last
look, knowing he was to die. I made him beg his horse's pardon, and say
how they will both be remembered, and their self-devotion would inspire
Romans to all posterity, and shout with a noble voice!" said Norman,
repeating some of his lines, correcting them as he proceeded.

"Oh! yes; but oh, dear, I've done! Come along," said Ethel, crumpling
her work into a bundle, and snatching up her gloves; then, as they ran
downstairs, and emerged into the street, "It is a famous subject."

"Yes, you have made a capital beginning. If you won't break down
somewhere, as you always do, with some frightful false quantity, that
you would get an imposition for, if you were a boy. I wish you were. I
should like to see old Hoxton's face, if you were to show him up some of
these verses."

"I'll tell you what, Norman, if I was you, I would not make Decius
flatter himself with the fame he was to get--it is too like the
stuff every one talks in stupid books. I want him to say--Rome--my
country--the eagles--must win, if they do--never mind what becomes of
me."

"But why should he not like to get the credit of it, as he did? Fame and
glory--they are the spirit of life, the reward of such a death."

"Oh, no, no," said Ethel. "Fame is coarse and vulgar--blinder than
ever they draw Love or Fortune--she is only a personified newspaper,
trumpeting out all tha