"Nay then," said he, in high Good-Humour, "I'll join you directly." And closing his Book with Alacrity, he followed me down Stairs. We had made no Difference, to _call_ Difference, for him this Evening. He took us as he found us; and chatted away on this and that, as much one of ourselves as if he had not a Word of _Latin_ or _Greek_ in his Head. Once or twice I tried to lead to Something I thought he would have liked better,--Something on which he could have harangued while it would have behoved us to listen; but he darted away from it directly, and _would_ keep down to the Level of his Company, without seeming to mind it. After Tea, we all took out our Work, and my _Mother_ began to snip a Fly-catcher. "Oh, now you expect me to read, I suppose," said he; but still delayed, to chat and laugh about this and the other Trifle with _Prudence_ and _Gatty_, till at last, a sudden Pause occurring, he had no Excuse for idling any longer. He said he would, with our Leave, read us _Shenstone's "Schoolmistress_." We had never heard of it, and were quite willing to hear it on his Recommendation. He said it was a Burlesque in the _Spenserian_ Stanza. We knew what a Burlesque was, but not what was a _Spenserian_ Stanza. He said, Illustration was the best Explanation, and began at once. His Voice and Manner of reading were so musical, that I liked the Melody; and could follow him with Ease till he got to "_Libs_, _Notus_, and _Auster_." I suppose he guessed we might be at Fault, so checked himself to tell us they were Names of the Winds. Then he was about to resume, when _Prue_ interrupted him with, "Pray, Sir, what is _unkempt_?" "Uncombed, to be sure," put in _Gatty_. "Oh, very well, I have been thinking of it ever so long, and could not make out what it was." "If I come to Anything you wish to know, pray don't scruple to stop me," says Mr. _Fenwick_; and went on. By and by, _Prue_ gets treading on _Gatty's_ Foot at-- "_As erst the Bard by Mulla's Silver Stream_," and _Gatty_ frowns at her. Mr. _Fenwick_, perceiving some By-Play going on, stops to ask if they have Anything to say. _Prudence_ hangs her Head over her Work, colours a little, and says, "No, Sir." "I believe," says Mr. _Fenwick_, glancing over the Leaves, "I had better modernize the old Style a little, that you may follow it better." We all thanked him, except _Prudence_, who said she liked it best as it was. "Why? Did she understand it?" "No." "Then why did she like it?" "Because she did." This Answer made Mr. _Fenwick_ laugh; but I must say I thought it very stupid. However, he went on, till within a few Verses of the End; when my _Father_ walked in. Mr. _Fenwick_, laying down the Book with that Cheerfulness and Self-Possession which so well became him, took the first Word, and said-- "Good Evening, Mr. _Honeywood_! Here am I, you see, reading to your good Wife and Daughters, and trying to prepare myself for Duty on a larger Scale."