ast,
Though he win the wise, who frowned before,
To smile at last,
He'll never meet a joy so sweet
In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman's ear
His soul-felt flame;
And at every close she blush'd to hear
The once-lov'd name."

At the commencement of this verse the Dominie appeared to be on his
guard; but gradually moved by the power of song, he dropped his elbow on
the table, and his pipe underneath it; his forehead sank into his broad
palm, and he remained motionless. The verse ended, and the Dominie,
forgetting all around him, softly ejaculated, without looking up, "Eheu!
Mary."

"Did you speak to me, sir?" said Mary, who, perceiving us tittering,
addressed the Dominie with a half-serious, half-mocking air.

"Speak, maiden? nay, I spoke not; yet thou mayest give me my pipe, which
apparently hath been abducted while I was listening to the song."

"Abducted! that's a new word; but it means smashed into twenty pieces, I
suppose," observed young Tom. "At all events, your pipe is, for you let
it fall between your legs."

"Never mind," said Mary, rising from her chair, and going to the
cupboard; "here's another, sir."

"Well, master, am I to finish, or have you had enough of it?"

"Proceed, friend Dux, proceed; and believe that I am all attention."

"Oh, that hallowed form is ne'er forgot
Which first love trac'd,
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste.
'Twas odour fled as soon as shed,
'Twas memory's winged dream,
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream;
Oh, 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream."

"Nay," said the Dominie, again abstracted, "the metaphor is not just.
`_Life's_ dull stream.' `_Lethe tacitus amnis_,' as Lucan hath it; but
the stream of life flows--ay, flows rapidly--even in my veins. Doth not
the heart throb and beat--yea, strongly--peradventure too forcibly
against my better judgment? `_Confiteor misere molle cor esse mihi_,'
as Ovid saith. Yet must it not prevail! Shall one girl be victorious
over seventy boys? Shall I, Dominie Dobbs, desert my post?--Again
succumb to--I will even depart, that I may be at my desk at matutinal
hours."

"You don't mean to leave us, sir?" said Mary, taking the Dominie's arm.

"Even so, fair maiden, for it waxeth late, and I have my duties to
perform," said the Dominie, rising from his chair.

"Then you will promise to come agai