of a man who had already outstripped all rivals in the race-ground he
had chosen, and who at that moment was in the very Maytime of youth
and of fame. And if such a man at such an epoch in his career could
sigh to 'be once more a boy,' it must have been when he was thinking
of the boy's half holiday, and recoiling from the task work he was
condemned to learn as man."

"The line you quote is, I think, from 'Childe Harold,' and surely you
would not apply to mankind in general the sentiment of a poet so
peculiarly self-reflecting (if I may use that expression), and in whom
sentiment is often so morbid."

"You are right, Mrs. Emlyn," said Kenelm, ingenuously. "Still a boy's
half holiday is a very happy thing; and among mankind in general there
must be many who would be glad to have it back again,--Mr. Emlyn
himself, I should think."

"Mr. Emlyn has his half holiday now. Do you not see him standing just
outside the window? Do you not hear him laughing? He is a child
again in the mirth of his children. I hope you will stay some time in
the neighbourhood; I am sure you and he will like each other. And it
is such a rare delight to him to get a scholar like yourself to talk
to."

"Pardon me, I am not a scholar; a very noble title that, and not to be
given to a lazy trifler on the surface of book-lore like myself."

"You are too modest. My husband has a copy of your Cambridge prize
verses, and says 'the Latinity of them is quite beautiful.' I quote
his very words."