and the landscape, as Alan described it the other day, and Decius
taking a last look, knowing he was to die. I made him beg his
horse's pardon, and say how they will both be remembered, and their
self-devotion would inspire Romans to all posterity, and shout with a
noble voice!" said Norman, repeating some of his lines, correcting
them as he proceeded.

"Oh! yes; but oh, dear, I've done! Come along," said Ethel,
crumpling her work into a bundle, and snatching up her gloves; then,
as they ran downstairs, and emerged into the street, "It is a famous
subject."

"Yes, you have made a capital beginning. If you won't break down
somewhere, as you always do, with some frightful false quantity, that
you would get an imposition for, if you were a boy. I wish you were.
I should like to see old Hoxton's face, if you were to show him up
some of these verses."

"I'll tell you what, Norman, if I was you, I would not make Decius
flatter himself with the fame he was to get--it is too like the stuff
every one talks in stupid books. I want him to say--Rome--my
country--the eagles--must win, if they do--never mind what becomes of
me."

"But why should he not like to get the credit of it, as he did? Fame
and glory--they are the spirit of life, the reward of such a death."

"Oh, no, no," said Ethel. "Fame is coarse and vulgar--blinder than
ever they draw Love or Fortune--she is only a personified newspaper,
trumpeting out all that is extraordinary, without minding whether it