that our sentimentalists are a variety owing their existence to a certain prolonged term of comfortable feeding.  The pig, it will be retorted, passes likewise through this training.  He does.  But in him it is not combined with an indigestion of high German romances.  Here is so notable a difference, that he cannot possibly be said to be of the family.  And I maintain it against him, who have nevertheless listened attentively to the eulogies pronounced by the vendors of prize bacon.

After thus stating to you the vast pretensions of the ladies of Brookfield, it would be unfair to sketch their portraits.  Nothing but comedy bordering on burlesque could issue from the contrast, though they graced a drawing-room or a pew, and had properly elegant habits and taste in dress, and were all fair to the sight.  Moreover, Adela had not long quitted school.  Outwardly they were not unlike other young ladies with wits alert.  They were at the commencement of their labours on this night of the expedition when they were fated to meet something greatly confusing them.

CHAPTER II

Half of a rosy mounting full moon was on the verge of the East as the ladies, with attendant cavaliers, passed, humming softly, through the garden-gates.  Arabella had, by right of birth, made claim to Mr. Pericles:  not without an unwontedly fretful remonstrance from Cornelia, who said, “My dear, you must allow that I have some talent for drawing men out.”

And Arabella replied:  “Certainly, dear, you have; and I think I have some too.”

The gentle altercation lasted half-an-hour, but they got no farther than this.  Mr. Pericles was either hopeless of protecting himself from such shrewd assailants, or indifferent to their attacks, for all his defensive measures were against the cold.  He was muffled in a superbly mounted bearskin, which came up so closely about his ears that Arabella had to repeat to him all her questions, and as it were force a way for her voice through the hide.  This was provoking, since it not only stemmed the natural flow of conversation, but prevented her imagination from decorating the reminiscence of it subsequently (which was her profound secret pleasure), besides letting in the outer world upon her.  Take it as an axiom, when you utter a sentimentalism, that more than one pair of ears makes a cynical critic.  A sentimentalism requires secresy.  I can enjoy it, and shall treat it respectfully if you will confide it to me alone; but I and my friends must laugh at it outright.

“Does there not seem a soul in the moonlight?” for instance.  Arabella, after a rapturous glance at the rosy orb, put it to Mr. Pericles, in subdued impressive tones.  She had to repeat her phrase; Mr. Pericles then echoing, with provoking monotony of tone, “Sol?”—­whereupon “Soul!” was reiterated, somewhat sharply:  and Mr. Pericles, peering over the collar of the bear, with half an