ed a hair; Aubrey, panting, done up,
railing at him as first cousin to Hercules, all as a delicate boast to
me of his friend's recovered strength. Aubrey's forte is certainly
veneration. His first class of human beings is a large one, though
quizzing is his ordinary form of adoration. For instance, he teases
Mab and her devoted slave some degrees more than the victim can bear,
and then relieves his feelings in my room by asseverations that the
friendship with Leonard will be on the May and Spencer pattern. The
sea is the elixir of life to both; Leonard looks quite himself again,
"only more so," and Aubrey has a glow never seen since his full moon
visage waned, and not all tan, though we are on the high road to be
coffee-berries. Aubrey daily entertains me with heroic tales of diving
and floating, till I tell them they will become enamoured of some "lady
of honour who lives in the sea," grow fishes' tails, and come home no
more. And really, as the time wanes, I feel that such a coast is
Elysium--above all, the boating. The lazy charm, the fresh purity of
air, the sights and sounds, the soft summer wave when one holds one's
hand over the tide, the excitement of sea-weed catching, and the
nonsense we all talk, are so delicious and such new sensations, (except
the nonsense, which loses by your absence, O learned doctor!) that I
fully perceive how pleasures untried cannot even be conceived. But ere
the lotos food has entirely depraved my memory, I give you warning to
come and fetch us home, now that the boys are in full repair. Come
yourself, and be feasted on shrimps and mackerel, and take one sail to
the mouth of the bay. I won't say who shall bring you; it would be fun
to have Daisy, and Mary ought to have a holiday, but then Richard would
take better care of you, and Tom would keep you in the best order.
Could you not all come? only if you don't yourself, I won't promise not
to take up with a merman.'

* * * * *

'July 4th.--Very well. If this is to make a strong man of Aubrey, tant
mieux, and even home and Cocksmoor yearnings concern me little in this
Castle of Indolence, so don't flatter yourself that I shall grumble at
having had to take our house on again. Let us keep Leonard; we should
both miss him extremely, and Aubrey would lose half the good without
some one to swim, scramble, and fight with. Indeed, for the poor
fellow's own sake, he should stay, for though he is physicall