e gesticulations with his legs in the
air. Inexpressible laughter followed, which broke up in a shower of
tiny stones from innumerable hands. They could not materially injure me,
although they cut me on the head and face. I attempted to run away, but
they all rushed upon me, and, laying hold of every part that afforded
a grasp, held me tight. Crowding about me like bees, they shouted an
insect-swarm of exasperating speeches up into my face, among which the
most frequently recurring were--"You shan't have her; you shan't have
her; he! he! he! She's for a better man; how he'll kiss her! how he'll
kiss her!"

The galvanic torrent of this battery of malevolence stung to life within
me a spark of nobleness, and I said aloud, "Well, if he is a better man,
let him have her."

They instantly let go their hold of me, and fell back a step or two,
with a whole broadside of grunts and humphs, as of unexpected and
disappointed approbation. I made a step or two forward, and a lane was
instantly opened for me through the midst of the grinning little antics,
who bowed most politely to me on every side as I passed. After I had
gone a few yards, I looked back, and saw them all standing quite still,
looking after me, like a great school of boys; till suddenly one turned
round, and with a loud whoop, rushed into the midst of the others. In
an instant, the whole was one writhing and tumbling heap of contortion,
reminding me of the live pyramids of intertwined snakes of which
travellers make report. As soon as one was worked out of the mass, he
bounded off a few paces, and then, with a somersault and a run, threw
himself gyrating into the air, and descended with all his weight on the
summit of the heaving and struggling chaos of fantastic figures. I left
them still busy at this fierce and apparently aimless amusement. And as
I went, I sang--

If a nobler waits for thee,
I will weep aside;
It is well that thou should'st be,
Of the nobler, bride.

For if love builds up the home,
Where the heart is free,
Homeless yet the heart must roam,
That has not found thee.

One must suffer: I, for her
Yield in her my part
Take her, thou art worthier--
Still I be still, my heart!

Gift ungotten! largess high
Of a frustrate will!
But to yield it lovingly
Is a something stil