praise. Hubert, his elbow on the arm of the bench, his hand supporting
his chin, looked out with dreamy eyes.

"What book have you there?" asked Mr. Grame, noticing one in his other
hand.

"Herbert," answered the young man, showing it. "I filched it from your
table through the open window, Grame."

The clergyman took it. It chanced to open at a passage he was very fond
of. Or perhaps he knew the place, and opened it purposely.

"Do you know these verses, Hubert? They are appropriate enough just now,
while those birds are carolling."

"I can't tell. What verses? Read them."

"Hark, how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring!
All creatures have their joy, and man hath his,
Yet, if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter than in present is.

Not that we may not here
Taste of the cheer;
But as birds drink and straight lift up the head,
So must he sip and think
Of better drink
He may attain to after he is dead."