MR. CAXTON.--"I don't say he was a poet, but he sent a poem to Madame de Montansier. Envious critics think that he must have paid somebody else to write it; but there is no reason why a great captain should not write a poem--I don't say a good poem, but a poem. I wonder, Roland, if the Duke ever tried his hand at 'Stanzas to Mary,' or 'Lines to a sleeping babe.'" CAPTAIN ROLAND.--"Austin, I'm ashamed of you. Of course the Duke could write poetry if he pleased--something, I dare say, in the way of the great Condé--that is something warlike and heroic, I'll be bound. Let's hear!" MR. CAXTON, reciting-- "Telle est du Ciel la loi sèvère Qu'il faut qu'un enfant ait un père; On dit même quelque fois Tel enfant en a jusqu'á trois." CAPTAIN ROLAND, greatly disgusted.--"Condé write such stuff!--I don't believe it." PISISTRATUS.--"I do, and accept the quotation--you and Roland shall be joint fathers to my child as well as myself." "Tel enfant en a jusqu'á trois." MR. CAXTON, solemnly.--"I refuse the proffered paternity; but so far as administering a little wholesome castigation, now and then, I have no objection to join in the discharge of a father's duty." PISISTRATUS.--"Agreed; have you any thing to say against the infant hitherto?" MR. CAXTON.--"He is in long clothes at present; let us wait till he can walk." BLANCHE.--"But pray whom do you mean for a hero?--and is Miss Jemima your heroine?" CAPTAIN ROLAND.--"There is some mystery about the--" PISISTRATUS, hastily.--"Hush, Uncle; no letting the cat out of the bag yet. Listen, all of you! I left Frank Hazeldean on his way to the Casino." CHAPTER II. "It is a sweet pretty place," thought Frank, as he opened the gate which led across the fields to the Casino, that smiled down upon him with its plaster pilasters. "I wonder, though, that my father, who is so particular in general, suffers the carriage road to be so full of holes and weeds. Mounseer does not receive many visits, I take it." But when Frank got into the ground immediately before the house, he saw no cause of complaint as to want of order and repair. Nothing could be kept more neatly. Frank was ashamed of the dint made by the pony's hoofs in the smooth gravel; he dismounted, tied the animal to the wicket, and went on foot toward the glass door in front.