ear child," said Miss Sophy,--"you needn't be so
ceremonious--none of us are wearing gloves."

Faith laughed and blushed and pulled off one glove.

"You are enacting Portia, are you?" said Dr. Harrison. "Even she would
not have handled wigs with them. I see I have done mischief! But the
harm I did you last night I will undo this evening. Ladies and
Gentlemen!--I will give you, presently, the pleasure of hearing some
lines written expressive of my wishes toward the unknown--but
supposed--mistress of my life and affections. Any suggestions toward
the bettering of them--I will hear."

"The bettering of what?" said Mrs. Somers,--"your life and affections?"

"I am aware, my dear aunt Ellen, you think the one impossible--the
other improbable. I speak of bettering the wishes."

"'Unknown but supposed'"--said Mr. Linden. "'Item--She hath many
nameless virtues'."

"That is not my wish," said the doctor gravely looking at him, "I think
nameless virtues--deserve their obscurity!"

"What do you call your ideal?"

"Psyche,--" said the doctor, after a minute's sober consideration
apparently divided between Mr. Linden's face and the subject.

"That is not so uncommon a name as Campaspe," said Mr. Linden, with a
queer little gesture of brow and lips.

"Who is Campaspe?" said the doctor; while Faith looked, and Miss
Essie's black eyes sparkled and danced, and everybody else held his
coffee cup in abeyance.

"Did you never hear of my Campaspe?" said Mr. Linden, glancing up from
under his brows.

"We will exchange civilities," said the doctor. "I should be very happy
to hear of her."

Laughing a little, his own cup sending its persuasive steam unheeded,
his own face on the sparkling order--though the eyes looked demurely
down,--Mr. Linden went on to answer.

"'Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid payed;
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose
Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how)
With these, the crystal of his browe,
And then the dimple of his chinne;
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he set her both his eyes,--
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me!'"

There was a general little breeze of laughter and applause. The doctor
had glanced at Faith;--her colour was certainly ra