idea of him either. Was
he a statue, or flesh and blood, with this shoulder of his?"

"Oh, he was alive; somebody ate him, I think."

"Well, was he a god or a man?" said Charles.

"Oh, it's a mistake of mine," said Caroline; "he was a goddess, the
ivory-footed--no, that was Thetis."

"My dear Caroline," said her mother, "do not talk so at random; think
before you speak; you know better than this."

"She has, ma'am," said Charles, "what Mr. Jennings would call 'a very
inaccurate mind.'"

"I recollect perfectly now," said Caroline, "he was a friend of
Epaminondas."

"When did he live?" asked Charles. Caroline was silent.

"Oh, Carry," said Eliza, "don't you recollect the _memoria technica_?"

"I never could learn it," said Caroline; "I hate it."

"Nor can I," said Mary; "give me good native numbers; they are sweet and
kindly, like flowers in a bed; but I don't like your artificial
flower-pots."

"But surely," said Charles, "a _memoria technica_ makes you recollect a
great many dates which you otherwise could not?"

"The crabbed names are more difficult even to pronounce than the numbers
to learn," said Caroline.

"That's because you have very few dates to get up," said Charles; "but
common writing is a _memoria technica_."

"That's beyond Caroline," said Mary.

"What are words but artificial signs for ideas?" said Charles; "they are
more musical, but as arbitrary. There is no more reason why the sound
'hat' should mean the particular thing so called, which we put on our
heads, than why 'abul-distof' should stand for 1520."

"Oh, my dear child," said Mrs. Reding, "how you run on! Don't be
paradoxical."

"My dear mother," said Charles, coming round to the fire, "I don't want
to be paradoxical; it's only a generalization."

"Keep it, then, for the schools, my dear; I dare say it will do you good
there," continued Mrs. Reding, while she continued her hemming; "poor
Caroline will be as much put to it in logic as in history."

"I am in a dilemma," said Charles, as he seated himself on a little
stool at his mother's feet; "for Carry calls me stupid if I am silent,
and you call me paradoxical if I speak."

"Good sense," said his mother, "is the golden mean."

"And what is common sense?" said Charles.

"The silver mean," said Eliza.

"Well done," said Charles; "it is small change for every hour."

"Rather," said Caroline, "it is the copper mean, for we want it, like
alms for the poor, to give away. P