VII. "Sea-beaches," said Eve,--"the minds of such people; you can trace the line of their last high tide, that is, the year when they stopped reading. Along the judge's line, one finds, for instance, Rogers; he really has no idea that there have been any new poets since then." "Dear me! We have always thought Horatio remarkably literary," protested Cousin Sarah Cray. "That's his step now, I think." The judge came in, little Jack on his shoulder. "I believe he has dropped some--some portions of his clothing on the stairs," he said, helplessly. "It's astonishing--the facility he has." "And he has pulled off his shoes," added Eve, taking the little reprobate and kissing him. "Naughty Jack. Tacks!" "Esss, tacks!" repeated Jack, in high glee. "Dey gets in Jack's foots." That was all he cared for her warning legend. The judge sat down and wiped his forehead. "I have received a shock," he said. "Pity's sake!--what?" asked Cousin Sarah Cray, in alarm. Poor Cousin Sarah dealt in interjections. But it might be added that she had lived through times that were exclamatory. "Our old friend, Roland Pettigru, is dead, Sarah; the news comes to us in this--this Sheet, which, I am told, is published here." He drew a small newspaper from his pocket. "With your permission, ladies, I will read to you the opening sentence of an obituary notice which this--this Sheet--has prepared for the occasion." He put on his spectacles, and, holding the paper off at a distance, read aloud, with slow, indignant enunciation, as follows: "'The Great Reaper has descended amongst us. And this time he has carried back with him sadly brilliant sheaves; for his arrows have been shot at a shining mark' (arrows for a reaper!" commented the judge, surveying his audience squintingly, over his glasses), "'and the aim has been only too true. Gaunt Sorrow stalks abroad, we mourn with Pettigru Hill; we say--and we repeat--that the death of Roland Pettigru has left a vortex among us.' Yes, vortex, ladies;--the death of a quiet, cultivated gentleman a vortex!" At this moment Deely, the house-maid, appeared at the door; giving her calico skirt a twist by way of "manners," she announced, "Miss Wungfy." Miss Leontine entered, carrying five books standing in a row upon her left arm as though it had been a shelf. She shook hands with Cousin Sarah Cray and Eve; then she went through the same ceremony with the judge, but in a confused, downcast manner, and seated herself on a slippery ottoman as near as possible to the door. "I hope you liked the books? Pray let me take them," said Eve, for Miss Leontine was still balancing them against her breast. "Literature?" remarked the judge, who also seemed embarrassed. He took up one of the volumes and opened it. "Ah, a novel."