HO ARDENMOHR. 



" Not Shakspeare surely ? " 



"Yes, Shakspeare and others; false exceedingly, 

 though beautiful exceedingly," said Ward jokingly. 



"In what way?" 



Here Ward turned round to Fred, saying fiercely, 

 " Yile, treacherous youth, hast thou purloined my fly ? " 



"Which fly, Hope?" inquired Fred. 



"My loveliest Irish prince, graced with fair Argus 

 plumes ; its shapely waist banded with silver cord, all 

 deftly fashioned by a beauty's hand." 



" Oh I see, one of the lot Emmy tied. I never 

 touched them." 



"Ah, Frederick Peyton, do I hear aright thy 

 rude denial? I've lost my treasured charm, and 

 thou, thy truth." 



" Was it a good one, Hope ? " 



" Good ! This is brave mockery, young sir ; 

 good is a mean term for such a priceless lure. With 

 it I've drawn the rushing monsters from the deep; 

 with it yet would have had more. Now, now for ever 

 lost by the dark treachery of a heartless boy ; that 

 boy my kinsman: and, Major, that sort of easy 

 rubbish is said to be natural, forsooth ; why, if one 

 spoke so in actual life, the nearest doctor for lunatics 

 would be sent for." 



