some little time, Austin; and though London is so empty, there are still
some persons of note to whom I should like to introduce you and yours--"

"Nay," said my father; "your world and my world are not the same. Books
for me, and men for you. Neither Kitty nor I can change our habits,
even for friendship: she has a great piece of work to finish, and so
have I. Mountains cannot stir, especially when in labor; but Mahomet
can come to the mountain as often as he likes."

Mr. Trevanion insisted, and Sir Sedley Beaudesert mildly put in his own
claims; both boasted acquaintance with literary men whom my father
would, at all events, be pleased to meet. My father doubted whether he
could meet any literary men more eloquent than Cicero, or more amusing
than Aristophanes; and observed that if such did exist, he would rather
meet them in their books than in a drawing-room. In fine, he--was
immovable; and so also, with less argument, was Captain Roland.

Then Mr. Trevanion turned to me.

"Your son, at all events, should see something of the world."

My mother's soft eye sparkled.

"My dear friend, I thank you," said my father, touched; "and Pisistratus
and I will talk it over."

Our guests had departed. All four of us gathered to the open window,
and enjoyed in silence the cool air and the moonlight.

"Austin," said my mother at last, "I fear it is for my sake that you