child of Venus!--the coxcomb!

* * * * *

[Here, for the sake of the reader, we omit, or rather postpone a
long dissertation on the famous Erototheogonic chorus of
Aristophanes's Birds, with illustrations taken from all earth and
heaven, from the Vedas and Proclus to Jacob Boehmen and Saint
Theresa.]

'The dichotomy of Lancelot's personality,' as the Germans would call
it, returned as he dashed on. His understanding was trying to ride,
while his spirit was left behind with Argemone. Hence loose reins
and a looser seat. He rolled about like a tipsy man, holding on, in
fact, far more by his spurs than by his knees, to the utter
infuriation of Shiver-the-timbers, who kicked and snorted over the
down like one of Mephistopheles's Demon-steeds. They had mounted
the hill--the deer fled before them in terror--they neared the park
palings. In the road beyond them the hounds were just killing their
fox, struggling and growling in fierce groups for the red gobbets of
fur, a panting, steaming ring of horses round them. Half a dozen
voices hailed him as he came up.

'Where have you been?' 'He'll tumble off!' 'He's had a fall!' 'No
he hasn't!' ''Ware hounds, man alive!' 'He'll break his neck!'

'He has broken it, at last!' shouted the colonel, as Shiver-the-
timbers rushed at the high pales, out of breath, and blind with
rage. Lancelot saw and heard nothing till he was awakened from his
dream by the long heave of the huge brute's shoulder, and the