to think that they may still
flourish perhaps in these old oak trees above us!"

"Ah," said I, "don't you recollect those lines about England;--

"`Beneath each swinging forest bough,
Some arm as stout in death reposes--
From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow,
Her valour's life-blood runs in roses;
Nay, let our brothers of the West
Write, smiling, in their florid pages,
One half her soil has walked the rest,
In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages!'"

"What!" exclaimed Mr Mawley, who had come up close behind us before we
perceived him, and at once pushed into the conversation. "`One half our
soil has walked the rest,' Lorton? That's a palpable absurdity! We'll
take England to be three hundred miles long and two hundred broad, on an
average; and, allowing a uniform depth of twelve feet throughout for
cultivable soil, that calculation will give us some--let me see, three
hundred by two hundred, multiplied by seventeen hundred and sixty to
bring it into yards, and then by three to reduce it to feet, when we
multiply it again by twelve to get the solidity--that gives us nearly
four billions cubic feet of soil, one-half of which would be two
billions. Fancy, Lorton, two thousand millions cubic feet of heroes,
eh! But, you havn't told us what amount of dust and ashes you would
apportion to each separate hero--" he thus proceeded, with his caustic
wit, seeing that Bessie Dasher and her sister were both laughing; and
even Min was smiling, at his absurdities. "Strange, perhaps Oliver
Cromwell is now a mangel wurzel, and poor King Charles the First an
apple tree! Depend upon it, Lorton, that is the origin of what is
called the King Pippin!"

He made me "as mad as a hatter," with his "chaff" at my favourite
quotation.

I was almost boiling over with rage.

I restrained myself, however, at the moment, and answered him in, for
me, comparatively mild terms.

"Mr Mawley," said I, "you have no more imagination than a turnip-top!
You must possess the taste of a Goth or Vandal, to turn such noble lines
into your low ridicule!"

He did not mind my retort a bit, however. He seemed to think it beneath
his notice; for, he only said "Thank you, Lorton!" and dropped back
behind us again with Bessie Dasher, while Seraphine joined company with
little Miss Pimpernell--Min and I being still together in front.

By-and-by our talk was resumed in the same strain from which the
curate's interpellation had diverted