and dispread in excess upon the surface of the water, until the vantage of her daughter’s help was lost to her; I beheld the consequences of my indiscretion, dismayed.  I would have checked the preposterous Virgilian, but in contempt of my uplifted hand and averted head, and regardless of the fact that his wife was then literally dependent upon him, the vicar declaimed (and the drenching effect produced by Latin upon a lady at such a season, may be thought on): 

        Vix primos inopina quies laxaverat artus,
        Et super incumbens, cum puppis parte revulsa
        Cumque gubernaclo liquidas projecit in undas.’

It is not easy when you are unacquainted with the language, to retort upon Latin, even when the attempt to do so is made in English.  Very few even of the uneducated ears can tolerate such anti-climax vituperative as English after sounding Latin.  Mrs. Amble kept down those sentiments which her vernacular might have expressed.  I heard but one groan that came from her as she lay huddled indistinguishably in the, arms of her husband.

‘Not—­praecipitem!  I am happy to say,’ my senseless friend remarked further, and laughed cheerfully as he fortified his statement with a run of negatives.  ‘No, no’; in a way peculiar to him.  ’No, no.  If I plant my grey hairs anywhere, it will be on dry land:  no.  But, now, my dear; he returned to his duty; why, you’re down again.  Come:  one, two, and up.’

He was raising a dead weight.  The passion for sarcastic speech was manifestly at war with common prudence in the bosom of Mrs. Amble; prudence, however, overcame it.  She cast on him a look of a kind that makes matrimony terrific in the dreams of bachelors, and then wedding her energy to the assistance given she made one of those senseless springs of the upper half of the body, which strike the philosophic eye with the futility of an effort that does not arise from a solid basis.  Owing to the want of concert between them, the vicar’s impulsive strength was expended when his wife’s came into play.  Alice clutched her mother bravely.  The vicar had force enough to stay his wife’s descent; but Alice (she boasts of her muscle) had not the force in the other direction—­and no wonder.  There are few young ladies who could pull fourteen stone sheer up a camshot.

Mrs. Amble remained in suspense between the two.

Oh, Mr. Pollingray, if you were only on this side to help us,’ Miss Alice exclaimed very piteously, though I could see that she was half mad with the internal struggle of laughter at the parents and concern for them.

‘Now, pull, Alice,’ shouted the vicar.

‘No, not yet,’ screamed Mrs. Amble; I’m sinking.’

‘Pull, Alice.’

‘Now, Mama.’

‘Oh!’

‘Push, Papa.’

‘I’m down.’

‘Up, Ma’am; Jane; woman, up.’

‘Gently, Papa:  Abraham, I will not.’

‘My dear, but you must.’