“Page sixty-four, the line beginning, ‘Behold the deep-shaking thunder,’” Mr. M. A. Dodson continued as he ran his fingers through the pages with that precision which is the fruit of a long and loving intercourse with books. “Now, sir, to my mind, the whole passage as far as ‘all-fostering Zeus’ could not be improved. To my mind, it is an incomparable advance upon Pope and upon Chapman, and even upon the extremely skilful version of the late Lord Derby. If I may be permitted to say it, sir, to my mind, the manner in which you have surmounted the well-nigh _in-superable_ difficulties of metre is worthy of the highest praise; and yet, sir, you do not appear to have sacrificed one iota of the sense or the spirit of the peerless original. Then, sir, page seventy-two, beginning with line eighteen, ‘Treads the waves of the many-tremulous seas.’ Or page ninety-one, that matchless rendering of---- But I must not pause to enumerate.” As Mr. M. A. Dodson ran his fingers with extreme rapidity through one after another of these underlined passages, a kind of generous enthusiasm communicated itself to his wizened countenance. His diction, ever touched by Attic grace, seemed presently to glow with a little of the Promethean fire. Yet never for a moment did it fall into incoherence, nor lapse from the ideal of style in spoken diction, however rapidly uttered, which was ever before him. “In fact, sir,” Mr. M. A. Dodson concluded as he came to the last passage he had underlined, “language fails me, as, sir, it has failed me from the first, to say in precisely what manner your consummate achievement has addressed my critical sense.” With this striking peroration, Mr. M. A. Dodson made as if to withdraw, but suddenly he appeared to think better of his resolution, for he returned again to the near proximity of his great and good master, and said in a modest voice, from which all traces of his infinitely creditable mental excitement had been removed, “If I dare, sir, I would ask of the author one small boon. I feel, sir, I have no right to ask it, but if it were granted to me, it would mean the overflowing of the cup. I should cherish beyond expression, sir, and I think I can vouch for it, that in after life my children also will do the same; I should cherish beyond expression, sir, the autograph of one who is at once the author of this great book, and who is at the same time the head of this great house.” Immediately Mr. Octavius Crumpett dipped his pen in the ink and inscribed upon the first page of the volume, _Mr. Matthew Arnold Dodson, with the Author’s good wishes_. “Mr. Dodson,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, after handing back the volume to that gentleman, and curtailing in some measure a gratitude that already had been choicely expressed; “Mr. Dodson, when you go down-stairs, I shall be obliged if you will have the goodness to ask Mr. Walkinshaw to have the kindness to come and see me.”