his Golden Bride again,
He hunts with melancholy men,'
--and is waked no longer by the Morning Star!"

"Not if he doesn't sleep till an hour before it rises!" Hippias
interjected. "You don't rhyme badly. But stick to prose. Poetry's a
Base-metal maid. I'm not sure that any writing's good for the digestion.
I'm afraid it has spoilt mine."

"Fear nothing, uncle!" laughed Richard. "You shall ride in the park with
me every day to get an appetite. You and I and the Golden Bride. You
know that little poem of Sandoe's?

'She rides in the park on a prancing bay,
She and her squires together;
Her dark locks gleam from a bonnet of grey,
And toss with the tossing feather.

'Too calmly proud for a glance of pride
Is the beautiful face as it passes;
The cockneys nod to each other aside,
The coxcombs lift their glasses.

'And throng to her, sigh to her, you that can breach
The ice-wall that guards her securely;
You have not such bliss, though she smile on you each,
As the heart that can image her purely.'

"Wasn't Sandoe once a friend of my father's? I suppose they quarrelled.
He understands the heart. What does he make his 'Humble Lover' say?

'True, Madam, you may think to part
Conditions by a glacier-ridge,
But Beauty's for the largest heart,
And all abysses Love can bridge!

"Hippias now laughed; grimly, as men laugh at the emptiness of words."

"Largest heart!" he sneered. "What's a 'glacier-ridge'? I've never seen
one. I can't deny it rhymes with 'bridge.' But don't go parading your
admiration of that person, Richard. Your father will speak to you on the
subject when he thinks fit."

"I thought they had quarrelled," said Richard. "What a pity!" and he
murmured to a pleased ear:

"Beauty's for the largest heart!"

The flow of their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of
passengers at a station. Richard examined their faces with pleasure. All
faces pleased him. Human nature sat tributary at the feet of him and
his Golden Bride. As he could not well talk his thoughts before them,
he looked out at the windows, and enjoyed the changing landscape,
projecting all sorts of delights for his old friend Ripton, and musing
hazily on the wondrous things he was to do in the world; of the great
service he was to be to his fellow-creatures. In the midst of his
reveries he was landed in London. Tom Bakewell stoo