"Tharah," repeated Frank.

"Sally Simmons, the boot-cleaner, Louis," said Hamilton; "you are up to nothing yet."

"She's a queer stick," said Frank.

"What a strange description of a woman!" remarked Louis.

"It is as clear as a person being a brick."

"And so it is," replied Frank; "only it's just the reverse."

"Up comes Thally with my Sunday boots as bright as her fair hands could make them, and wanted me to look at a hole she had sc.r.a.ped in them, nor, though I promised to give her my opinion of her handiwork when I came back, was I allowed to depart till she had permission to take them to her 'fayther.'"

Nothing worthy of record pa.s.sed during the walk to Bristol till the trio reached College Green. Here Louis began to look out for music-shops, while Frank entertained his companions with a running commentary on the shops, carriages, and people. It was a clear, bright day, and Clifton seemed to have poured itself out in the Green.

"Look there, Hamilton, there's a whiskered don! What a pair of moustaches! Hamilton, where is your eye-gla.s.s? Here's Trevannion's shadow--was there ever such a Paris! Good gracious! as the ladies say, what a frightful bonnet! Isn't that a love of a silk, Louis? Now, Hamilton, did you ever see such a guy?"

Hamilton was annoyed at these remarks, made by no means in a low tone, and, in his eagerness to change the conversation and get further from Frank, he unfortunately ran against a lady who was getting out of a carriage just drawn up in front of a large linen-draper's shop, much to the indignation of a young gentleman who attended her.

Hamilton begged pardon, with a crimson face; and, as the lady kindly a.s.sured him she was not hurt, Louis recognized in her his quondam friend, Mrs. Paget, and darted forward to claim her acquaintance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The meeting with Mrs. Paget.]

"What, Louis! my little Master Louis!" exclaimed the lady; "I did not expect to see you. Where have you come from?"

"I am at school, ma'am, at Dr. Wilkinson's, and I had leave to come out with Hamilton this afternoon. This is Hamilton, ma'am--Hamilton, this is Mrs. Paget."

"Our rencontre, Mr. Hamilton," said the lady, "has been most fortunate; for without this contretemps I should have been quite ignorant of Master Louis' being so near--you must come and see me, dear. Mr. Hamilton, I must take him home with me this afternoon."

"It is impossible, ma'am," said Hamilton, bluntly; "I am answerable for him, and he must go back with me."

"Can you be so inexorable?" said Mrs. Paget. "Will you come, too, and Mr. Francis Digby--I beg your pardon, Mr. Frank, I did not see you."

"I beg yours, ma'am," replied the affable Frank, with a most engaging bow; "for I was so taken up with the tempting display on the green this afternoon, that I only became aware this moment of my approximation to yourself."

"The shops are very gay, certainly; but I should have thought that you young gentlemen would not have cared much for the display. Now, a tailor's shop would have been much more in your taste."

"Indeed, ma'am, we came out with the express purpose of buying a silk for the Lady Louisa."

"I wonder any lady should commission you to buy any thing for her."

"Oh!" replied Frank, "I am renowned for my taste; and Hamilton is equally well qualified. Can you recommend us a good milliner, ma'am?"

"I am going to look at some bonnets," said the lady. "But, Mr. Frank, I half suspect you are quizzing. What Lady Louisa are you speaking of?"

Frank had drawn up his face into a very grave and confidential twist, when Mrs. Paget's equerry, the young gentleman before mentioned, offered his arm, and, giving Frank a withering look, warned the lady of the time.

"You are right. It is getting late," she said. "Good-bye, dear boy.

Where are you now? Dr. Williams?"

"Dr. Wilkinson's, Ashfield House," said Louis.

"Henry, will you remember the address?" said the lady.

The young gentleman grunted some kind of acquiescence; and, after due adieus, Mrs. Paget walked into the shop.

"Frank, I'm ashamed of you," said Hamilton.

"I am sure," replied Frank, "I've been doing all the work; I'm a walking exhibition of entertainment for man and beast."

Hamilton would not laugh, and, finding all remonstrances unavailing, he quickened his pace and walked on in silence till they reached the music-seller's, where, after some deliberation, they obtained the requisite music, and, after a few more errands, began to retrace their steps.

The walk home was very merry. Louis, having unfastened the bundle, tried over some of the songs, and taught Frank readily the contralto of two. Then he wanted to try Hamilton, but this in the open air Hamilton stoutly resisted, though he promised to make an effort at some future time. After Frank and Louis had sung their duets several times over to their own satisfaction while sitting under a hedge, all the party grew silent: there was something so beautiful in the stillness and brightness, that none felt inclined to disturb it.

At last, Louis suddenly began Eve's hymn:

"How cheerful along the gay mead The daisy and cowslip appear!

The flocks, as they carelessly feed, Rejoice in the spring of the year; The myrtles that shade the gay bowers, The herbage that springs from the sod, Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flowers, All rise to the praise of my G.o.d.

"Shall man, the great master of all, The only insensible prove?

Forbid it, fair grat.i.tude's call!

Forbid it, devotion and love!

THEE, Lord, who such wonders canst raise, And still canst destroy with a nod, My lips shall incessantly praise, My soul shall be wrapped in my G.o.d."

DR. ARNE.

Frank joined in the latter part of the first verse, but was silent in the second.

"Why did you not go on, Frank?" asked Hamilton.

"It was too sweet," said Frank. "Louis, I envy you your thoughts."

"Do you?" said Louis, looking up quickly in his cousin's face, with a bright expression of pleasure.

"When you began that song," continued Frank, "I was thinking of those lines,

'These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!'"

"'Thyself how wondrous then!'" repeated Hamilton, reverentially.

"I don't know how it is, Louis," said Frank; "in cathedrals, and in beautiful scenery, when a grave fit comes over me, I sometimes think I should like to be religious."

Louis squeezed his hand, but did not speak.

"Take care, Frank," said Hamilton with some emotion. "Be very, very careful not to mistake sentiment for religion. I am sure it is so easy to imagine the emotion excited by beauty of sight or sound, religious, that we cannot, be too careful in examining the _reason_ of such feelings."

"But how, Hamilton?" said Frank. "You would not check such impressions?"

"No; it is better that our thoughts should be carried by beauty to the source of all beauty; but to a poetical, susceptible imagination this is often the case where there is not the least vital religion, Frank.

The deist will gaze on the splendid landscape, and bow in reverence to the G.o.d of nature, but a Christian's thoughts should fly to his G.o.d at all times; the light and beauty of the scenes of nature should be within himself. When a person's whole religion consists in these transient emotions, he ought to mistrust it, Digby."