“’But Hellenism found its medium in the Greek language, rich to satiety, and possessing a syntax of such extraordinary flexibility, that it could follow all evolutions without being shaken in its organism.  It was in vain that the Latin literature sought to maintain its position by harking back to the writers anterior to Cicero, those that Hellenism had not touched, and presenting them as models of style; and thus a new school very fain of antiquity had sprung up, with Fronto for its acknowledged chief—­a school pre-occupied above all things by the form; obsolete words set in a new setting, modern words introduced into old cadences to freshen them with a bright and delightful varnish, in a word, a language under visible sign of decay ... yet how full of dim idea and evanescent music—­a sort of Indian summer, a season of dependency that looked back on the splendours of Augustan yesterdays—­an autumn forest.’

“Did you ever hear such rubbish, or affectation, whichever you like to call it?  I should like to know what all that’s to do with mediaeval Latin.  And then he goes on to complain of the architecture of Stanton College....  It is, he says, base Tudor of the vilest kind.  ’Practical cookery’ he calls it, ‘antique sauce, sold by all chemists and grocers.’  Do you know what he means?  I don’t.  And worst news of all, he is, would you believe it? putting a magnificent thirteen century window into the chapel, and he wants me to go up to London to make enquiries about organs.  He is prepared to go as far as a thousand pounds.  Did you ever hear of such a thing?  Those Jesuits are encouraging him.  Of course it would just suit them if he became a priest; nothing would suit them better; the whole property would fall into their hands.  Now, what I want you to do, my dear friend, is to go to Stanton College to-morrow, or next day, as soon as you possibly can, and to talk to John.  You must tell him how unwise it is to spend fifteen hundred pounds in one year, building organs and putting up windows.  His intentions are excellent, but his estate won’t bear such extravagances:  and everybody here thinks he is such a miser.  I want you to tell him that he should marry.  Just fancy what a terrible thing it would be if the estate passed away to distant relatives—­to those terrible cousins of ours.”

“Very well, Lizzie, I will do what I can.  I will go to-morrow.  I have not seen him for five years.  The last time he was here I was away.  I don’t think it would be a bad notion to suggest that the Jesuits are after his money, that they are endeavouring to inveigle him into the priesthood in order that they may get hold of his property.”

“No, no; you must not say such a thing.  I will not have you say anything against his religion.  I was very wrong to suggest such a thing.  I am sure no such idea ever entered the Jesuits’ heads.  Perhaps I am wrong to send you to them....  Now I depend on you not to speak to him on religious subjects.”