leaming in the sun. Just seen
from his place of watch, though concealed from the casual eye, the
Hungarian musicians lay in ambush amidst a little belt of laurels and
American shrubs. Far to the right lay what had once been called (_hor
resco referens_) the duck-pond, where--_Dulce sonant tenui gutture
carmen aves_. But the ruthless ingenuity of the head artificer had
converted the duck-pond into a Swiss lake, despite grievous wrong and
sorrow to the _assuetum innocuumque genus_--the familiar and harmless
habitants, who had been all expatriated and banished from their native
waves. Large poles twisted with fir branches, stuck thickly around the
lake, gave to the waters the becoming Helvetian gloom. And here, beside
three cows all bedecked with ribbons, stood the Swiss maidens destined
to startle the shades with the _Ranz des Vaches_. To the left, full upon
the sward, which it almost entirely covered, stretched the great Gothic
marquee, divided into two grand sections--one for the _dancing_, one for
the _dejeune_.

The day was propitious--not a cloud in the sky. The musicians were
already tuning their instruments; figures of waiters--hired of
Gunter--trim and decorous, in black trowsers and white waistcoats,
passed to and fro the space between the house and marquee. Richard
looked and looked; and as he looked he drew mechanically his razor
across the strop; and when he had looked his fill, he turned reluctantly
to the glass and shaved! All that blessed morning he had been too busy,
till then, to think of shaving.

There is a vast deal of character in the way that a man performs that
operation of shaving! You should have seen Richard Avenel shave! You
could have judged at once how he would shave his neighbors, when you saw
the celerity, the completeness with which he shaved himself--a
forestroke and a backstroke, and _tondenti barba cadebat_! Cheek and
chin were as smooth as glass. You would have buttoned up your pockets
instinctively if you had seen him.

But the rest of Mr. Avenel's toilet was not completed with correspondent
dispatch. On his bed, and on his chairs, and on his sofa, and on his
drawers, lay trowsers, and vests, and cravats, enough to distract the
choice of a Stoic. And first one pair of trowsers was tried on, and then
another--and one waistcoat, and then a second, and then a third.
Gradually that _chef d'oeuvre_ of Civilization--a _man dressed_--grew
into development and form; and, finally, Mr. Richar