Which of three Misses Trevellyn it is that Vernon shall marry Is not a thing to be known; for our friend's is one of those natures Which have their perfect delight in the general tender-domestic, So that he trifles with Mary's shawl, ties Susan's bonnet, Dances with all, but at home is most, they say, with Georgina, Who is, however, _too_ silly in my apprehension for Vernon. I, as before when I wrote, continue to see them a little; Not that I like them so much, or care a _bajocco_ for Vernon, But I am slow at Italian, have not many English acquaintance, And I am asked, in short, and am not good at excuses. Middle-class people these, bankers very likely, not wholly Pure of the taint of the shop; will at table d'hôte and restaurant Have their shilling's worth, their penny's pennyworth even: Neither man's aristocracy this, nor God's, God knoweth! Yet they are fairly descended, they give you to know, well connected; Doubtless somewhere in some neighborhood have, and careful to keep, some Threadbare-genteel relations, who in their turn are enchanted Grandly among county people to introduce at assemblies To the unpennied cadets our cousins with excellent fortunes. Neither man's aristocracy this, nor God's, God knoweth! VII.--CLAUDE TO EUSTACE. Ah, what a shame, indeed, to abuse these most worthy people! Ah, what a sin to have sneered at their innocent rustic pretensions! Is it not laudable really, this reverent worship of station? Is it not fitting that wealth should tender this homage to culture? Is it not touching to witness these efforts, if little availing, Painfully made, to perform the old ritual service of manners? Shall not devotion atone for the absence of knowledge? and fervor Palliate, cover, the fault of a superstitious observance? Dear, dear, what have I said? but, alas, just now, like Iago, I can be nothing at all, if it is not critical wholly; So in fantastic height, in coxcomb exaltation, Here in the Garden I walk, can freely concede to the Maker That the works of his hand are all very good: his creatures, Beast of the field and fowl, he brings them before me; I name them; That which I name them, they are,--the bird, the beast, and the cattle. But for Adam,--alas, poor critical coxcomb Adam! But for Adam there is not found an help-meet for him. VIII.--CLAUDE TO EUSTACE. No, great Dome of Agrippa, thou art not Christian! canst not, Strip and replaster and daub and do what they will with thee, be so! Here underneath the great porch of colossal Corinthian columns, Here as I walk, do I dream of the Christian belfries above them; Or on a bench as I sit and abide for long hours, till thy whole vast Round grows dim as in dreams to my eyes, I repeople thy niches, Not with the Martyrs, and Saints, and Confessors, and Virgins, and children, But with the mightier forms of an older, austerer worship; And I recite to myself, how