out to us by women.  Though they may understand them not, they handle them with gentle courtesy, and are certainly in every way to be preferred to the youthful freckled monster with red spines upon his head, and nailed boots, ’the work of the Cyclops,’ upon his feet, whose physiognomy is contorted by cinnamon-balls at the very moment he carries in his arms some great Golden-lips or gentle Silver-tongue.  What good sweet women there are, too, who would bless heaven for the occupation!

Well, as I said, we in that particular library are more fortunate, and two of the ‘subscribers,’ at least, did at one time express their appreciation of its privileges by a daily dream among its shelves.  One day—­had Hercules been there overnight?—­we missed one of our fair attendants.  Was it Aegle, Arethusa, or Hesperia?  Narcissus probably knew.  And on the next she was still missing; nor on the third had she returned; but lo! there was another in her stead—­and on her Narcissus bent his gaze, according to wont.  A little maid, with noticeable eyes, and the hair Rossetti loved to paint—­called Hesper, ‘by many,’ said Narcissus, one day long after, solemnly quoting the Vita Nuova, ’who know not wherefore.’

‘Why! do you know?’ I asked.

‘Yes!’ And then, for the first time, he had told me the story I have now to tell again.  He had, meanwhile, rather surprised me by little touches of intimate observation of her which he occasionally let slip—­as, for instance, ’Have you noticed her forehead?  It has a fine distinction of form; is pure ivory, surely; and you should watch how deliciously her hair springs out of it, like little wavy threads of “old gold” set in the ivory by some cunning artist.’

I had just looked at him and wondered a moment.  But such attentive regard was hardly matter for surprise in his case; and, moreover, I always tried to avoid the subject of women with him, for it was the one on which alone there was danger of our disagreeing.  It was the only one in which he seemed to show signs of cruelty in his disposition, though it was, I well know, but a thoughtless cruelty; and in my heart I always felt that he was too right-minded and noble in the other great matters of life not to come right on that too when ‘the hour had struck.’  Meanwhile, he had a way of classifying amours by the number of verses inspired—­as, ’Heigho! it’s all over; but never mind, I got two sonnets out of her’—­which seemed to me an exhibition of the worst side of his artist disposition, and which—­well, Reader, jarred much on one who already knew what a true love meant.  It was, however, I could see, quite unconscious; and I tried hard not to be intolerant towards him, because fortune had blessed me with an earlier illumination.

Pray, go not away with the misconception that Narcissus was ever base to a woman.  No! he left that to Circe’s hogs, and the one temptation he ever had towards it he turned into a shining salvation.  No! he had nothing worse than the sins of the young egoist to answer for, though he afterwards came to feel those pitiful and mean enough.