you were loath to burden yourself with a fresh one. That, at least, we know to be a lie, fair Frank; for your heart is as pure this day as when you knelt in your little crib at Burrough, and said-- “Four corners to my bed Four angels round my head; Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on.” And who could doubt it (if being pure themselves, they have instinctive sympathy with what is pure), who ever looked into those great deep blue eyes of yours, “the black fringed curtains of whose azure lids,” usually down-dropt as if in deepest thought, you raise slowly, almost wonderingly each time you speak, as if awakening from some fair dream whose home is rather in your platonical “eternal world of supra-sensible forms,” than on that work-day earth wherein you nevertheless acquit yourself so well? There--I must stop describing you, or I shall catch the infection of your own euphuism, and talk of you as you would have talked of Sidney or of Spenser, or of that Swan of Avon, whose song had just begun when yours--but I will not anticipate; my Lady Bath is waiting to give you her rejoinder. “Ah, my silver-tongued scholar! and are you, then, the poet? or have you been drawing on the inexhaustible bank of your friend Raleigh, or my cousin Sidney? or has our new Cygnet Immerito lent you a few unpublished leaves from some fresh Shepherd's Calendar?” “Had either, madam, of that cynosural triad been within call of my most humble importunities, your ears had been delectate with far nobler melody.” “But not our eyes with fairer faces, eh? Well, you have chosen your nymphs, and had good store from whence to pick, I doubt not. Few young Dulcineas round but must have been glad to take service under so renowned a captain?” “The only difficulty, gracious countess, has been to know where to fix the wandering choice of my bewildered eyes, where all alike are fair, and all alike facund.” “We understand,” said she, smiling;-- “Dan Cupid, choosing 'midst his mother's graces, Himself more fair, made scorn of fairest faces.” The young scholar capped her distich forthwith, and bowing to her with a meaning look, “'Then, Goddess, turn,' he cried, 'and veil thy light; Blinded by thine, what eyes can choose aright?'” “Go, saucy sir,” said my lady, in high glee: “the pageant stays your supreme pleasure.” And away went Mr. Frank as master of the revels, to bring up the 'prentices' pageant; while, for his sake, the nymph of Torridge was forgotten for awhile by all young dames, and most young gentlemen: and his mother heaved a deep sigh, which Lady Bath overhearing-- “What? in the dumps, good madam, while all are rejoicing in your joy? Are you afraid that we court-dames shall turn your Adonis's brain for him?” “I do, indeed, fear lest your condescension should make him forget that he is only a poor squire's orphan.” “I will warrant him never to forget aught that he should recollect,” said my Lady Bath.