Genre - Romance. You are on the page - 19

an with the accuracy of a sculptor's eye. "There is onepoint, however, or, rather, two points, in respect to which our friendDonatello's abundant curls will not permit us to say whether the likenessis carried into minute detail."And the sculptor directed the attention of the party to the ears of thebeautiful statue which they were contemplating. But we must do more than merely refer to this exquisite work of art; itmust be described, however inadequate may be the effort to express

o dispose of the miserable horse that hasbrought me hither, and am preparing to continue the journey on foot."Although he seemed to recite this story tranquilly enough, Iobserved the tears start to his eyes as he concluded. Thisadventure struck me as being not less singular than it wasaffecting. "I do not press you," said I to him, to make me theconfidant of your secrets; but if I can be of use to you in anyway, I gladly tender you my services." "Alas!" replied

nter's chill had not yet gone out of the air. But then, Willard had earned his ducking.The girl cleared her throat. "We have had an accident," she informed the rider, her voice a little husky. At this word he swept his hat from his head and bowed to her. "Why, I reckon you have, ma'am," he said. "Didn't you have no driver?" "Why, yes," returned the girl hesitatingly, for she thought she detected sarcasm in his voice, and she had to look twice at him to

but between whiles managed to do fairly well in the Tripos, to finish a new and original translation of Quintilian, another of Petronius Arbiter and also a literal rendering into the English of the Memoirs of the Sieur de Brantome.""For none of which you have hitherto found a publisher?" inquired Mr. Grainger. "Not as yet," said I, "but I have great hopes of my Brantome, as you are probably aware this is the first time he has ever been translated into the

eacon heartily.Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost uponDi returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's. "Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?" She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carryingpink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voicethere was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. Shepaused on the steps, a lovely figure. But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby. "Oh,