uous and delicious. At dessert two self-invited
guests came in, the lady's husband and the sister's lover, but they were
welcome, for it was a case of the more the merrier. After the meal, in
accordance with the request of the company, I made a bank at faro, and
after three hours' play I was delighted to find myself a loser to the
extent of forty sequins. It was these little losses at the right time
which gave me the reputation of being the finest gamester in Europe.

The lady's lover was named Vigi, and I asked him if he was descended from
the author of the thirteenth book of the "AEneid." He said he was, and
that in honour of his ancestor he had translated the poem into Italian
verse. I expressed myself curious as to his version, and he promised to
bring it me in two days' time. I complimented him on belonging to such a
noble and ancient family; Maffeo Vigi flourished at the beginning of the
fifteenth century.

We started in the evening, and less than two hours we got home. The moon
which shone brightly upon us prevented me making any attempts on
Clementine, who had put up her feet in order that she might be able to
hold her little nephew with more ease. The pretty mother could not help
thanking me warmly for the pleasure I had given them; I was a universal
favourite with them all.

We did not feel inclined to eat any supper, and therefore retired to our
apartments; and I accompanied Clementine, who told me that she was
ashamed at not knowing anything about the "AEneid."

"Vigi will bring his translation of the thirteenth book, and I shall not
know a word about it."

I comforted her by telling her that we would read the fine translation by
Annibale Caro that very night. It was amongst her books, as also the
version by Anguilara, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Marchetti's Lucreece.

"But I wanted to read the Pastor Fido."

"We are in a hurry; we must read that another time."

"I will follow your advice in all things, my dear Iolas."

"That will make me happy, dearest Hebe."

We spent the night in reading that magnificent translation in Italian
blank verse, but the reading was often interrupted by my pupil's laughter
when we came to some rather ticklish passage. She was highly amused by
the account of the chance which gave 'AEneas an opportunity of proving
his love for Dido in a very inconvenient place, and still more, when
Dido, complaining of the son of Priam's treachery, says,--

"I might still pardon you if,