You must not think that I make these remarks with any bitter feelings now in my heart towards Min's mother. I only desire to tell my story truthfully; and, I may say at once that she failed in our after struggle together. I really believe that she meant honestly to do the best she could for her daughter, as "the best" was held by the articles of her social creed; and that she manoeuvred so that her "lines" should "fall in pleasant places." Yet, those good thoughts, and best wishes, and wise plans of worldly people, effect incalculable mischief and misery and unhappiness in life. Many a sorely-tried heart has been broken by their influence--many a man and woman ruined for life and for eternity, through their means! And, although I mean no harm towards Mrs Clyde now, as I have already stated, however much I may have been opposed to her once--for the battle has been fought lang syne, and the game played out to its end--still, I can never forget that she _was_ my enemy! CHAPTER TEN. "A FOOL'S PARADISE." Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And the same flower that blooms to-day, To-morrow may be dying! Rost nubila Phoebus; "after clouds, comes sunshine." I did not allow the coldness of Min's mother to dwell long in my mind. What, if Mrs Clyde did not appear to like me? Could I alter the obliquity of her mental vision by brooding over it, and worrying myself into a fit of misanthropy? Would it not be better for me to allow matters to run their appointed course, in accordance with the inexorable law of events, and not to anticipate those evils with which the future might be pregnant? The followers of Mahomet are wise men in their generation. They take everything that happens to them with the philosophy of their faith. Kismet! It is their fate, may Allah be praised! they say. I was perfectly satisfied to accommodate myself to circumstances; and gathered flowers, according to wise old Herrick's advice, to my heart's content. I did not seek to inquire about the future:--why should I? Time flew by on golden pinions, and I was as happy as the day was long. Winter made way for spring, spring gave place to summer. The halcyon hours sped brighter and brighter for me, from the time of violets--when nature's sweetest nurslings modestly blossomed beneath the hedge-rows. Then came "the month of roses," as the Persians appropriately style that duodecimal portion of the year. It was a happier time still; for, I loved Min, and I thought that Min loved me. The very seasons seemed to draw me nearer to her. In the spring the violets' scented breath recalled her whenever I inhaled their fragrance; while, the nightingale's amorous trills--we had nightingales to visit us in our suburb, closely situated as it was to London--appeared to me to embody the impassioned words that Tennyson puts in the mouth of his love-wooing sea maiden--