Philistia

y gardens. Ernest would have liked to walk with her himself, for there was something in her that began to interest him somewhat; and besides, she was so pretty, and so graceful, and so sym

endeavoured to simulate a polite interest in the old lady's scraps

Addison is said to have specially patronised it. As he was an undergraduate of this college, and a singularly lazy person, it's very probable that he really did

w exquisite it looks just now, with the mellow light falling down upon the path through this beautiful autumnal foliage! It's just a natural cath

rkeley said, 'and the walk to-day is very much the same in its delicate colo

n from Reading, a perfect glow of crimson and orange at Pangbourne, Goring, Mapledurham, and Nuneham. I always thought the Dart in October the loveliest blaze of warm reds

redden and crimson in the autumn, I could sit all day long by my open window, and just look at that glorious sight alone instead of having my dinner. But I'm very fond of these walks in full summer time too. I often stop up alone

said Edie quickly. 'They've caught exactly the flavour o

my music, then

he comes back at the end of term. I can play every one of them

ow which you shall hear as soon as I've finished it; something lighter and daintie

your music under your o

al suicide for me to be suspected of artistic leanings. All very well in an archdeacon, you know, to cultivate his tastes for chants and anthems, but for a simple

rkeley. I was so pleased when you invited us, to think I was going to

stories of one's brain somewhere, there's a tune floating about, or rather a whole oratorio full of them, that one can never catch and fix upon ruled paper. The idea's there, such a beautiful and vague idea, so familiar to one, but so utterly unrealisable on any known instrument-a sort of musical Ariel, flitting before one and tantalising one for ever, but never

e had always seen much of Harry, and though Harry, who was the kindest and proudest of brothers, had always instinctively kept her up to his own level of thought and conversation, still, she wasn't used to seeing so many intelligent and educated young men together, and the novelty of their society was delightfully exhilarating to her eager li

er; and he was compelled by politeness to give her up in favour of Arthur Berkeley. However, he made up f

ion after she has gone. Little Miss Butterfly! What a pretty, airy, dainty, delicate little morsel it is! How she flits, and sips, and natters about every possible subject, just touching the tip of it so gracefully with her tiny white fingers, and blushing so unfeignedly when she thinks she's paid you a compliment, or you've paid her one. How she blushe

off in the sunshine-there you go, Miss Butterfly, eddying and circling with your painted mate. Flirt, flirt, flirt, coquetting and curvetting, in your pretty rhythmical a?rial quadrille. Down again, down to the hare-bell on the hill side; sip at it, sip at it, sip at it, sweet little honey-drops, clear little honey-drops, bright little honey-drops; oh, for a song to be set to the melody! Tra-la-la, tro-lo-lo, up again, Butterfly. Little silk handkerchief, little lace neckerchief, fluttering, f

s Butterfly!-pho, no Frenchman could possibly catch it. Swinburne could fit the metres, I dare say, but he couldn't fit the feeling. It shall be a song without words, unless I write some Italian lines for it myself. Animula, blandula vagula-that's the sort

nds, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? And if you show us a little Miss Butterfly, beautiful to the finger-ends, do we not fall in love with her at least as unaffectedly as if we were canons residentiary or rural deans? Fancy little Miss Butterfly a rural deaness! the notion's

the good of mine, as it stands now, to its owner or to anybody else, I should like to know, except the dear old Progenitor? A mere bit of cracked blue china, a fanciful air from a comic opera, masquerading in black and white as a piece of sacred music! What good am I to anyone on earth but the Progenitor (God bless him!), and when he's gone, dear old fellow, what on earth shall I have left to live for. A selfish blank, that's all. But with HER, ah, how different! With her to live for and to cherish, with an object to set before oneself as worth one's consideration, what mightn't I do at last? Make her happy-after all, that's the great thing. Mak

sly conversing with his heated fancy, Harry and Edie Oswal

y and Le Breton, Edie?' asked her broth

r my affections to him instead… But Mr. Berkeley plays divinely… And Mr. Le Breton talks beautifully… You know, I've never seen such clever men before-except you, of course, Harry dear, for you'r

duly examined and classified the silks, 'but I don't e

in the community-do-nothings and eat-alls-and therefore he has conscientious scruples against himself for not immediately committing suicide. I believe, if

cried Edie hastily. 'I think I shall really ask h

on on his behalf, no doubt, Popsy; but I'm afraid it wo

, is Mr. Berkel

don't suppose he ever gave the subj

d's is very High

, I suppose, on purely aesthetic grounds. He liked a musical service, and it seemed natural to him to take part in one, just as it seemed natural to a mediaeval Italian with artistic

ing no particular theological beliefs, of course; one expe

the point of view of the impression alone. What he sees in the Church is not a body of dogmas, like the High Churchmen, nor a set of opinions, like the Low Churchmen, but a close corporation of educated and cultivated gentlemen, charged with the duty of caring for a number of beautiful mediaeval architectural monuments, and of c

immensely. Mr. Berkeley's very nice, but perh