sorry," he added, looking aside, "that our excursions can be but few. On
Friday next I shall submit to you a proposition; if you accept it, we
shall part on Saturday,--liking each other, I hope: speaking for myself,
the experiment has not failed; and on yours?"

"On mine!--oh, Mr. Darrell, if I dared but tell you what recollections of
yourself the experiment will bequeath to me!"

"Do not tell me, if they imply a compliment," answered Darrell, with the
low silvery laugh which so melodiously expressed indifference and
repelled affection. He entered the stable-yard, dismounted; and on
returning to Lionel, the sound of the flute stole forth, as if from the
eaves of the gabled roof. "Could the pipe of Horace's Faunus be sweeter
than that flute?" said Darrell,

"'Utcunque dulci, Tyndare, fistula,
Valles,' etc.

What a lovely ode that is! What knowledge of town life! what
susceptibility to the rural! Of all the Latins, Horace is the only one
with whom I could wish to have spent a week. But no! I could not have
discussed the brief span of human life with locks steeped in Malobathran
balm and wreathed with that silly myrtle. Horace and I would have
quarrelled over the first heady bowl of Massie. We never can quarrel
now! Blessed subject and poet-laureate of Queen Proserpine, and, I dare
swear, the most gentlemanlike poet she ever received at court; henceforth
his task is to uncoil the asps from the brows of Alecto, and arrest the
ambitious Orion from the chase after visionary lions."