the privilege of reading the poems first, should
signify his approbation or disapproval by one
simple letter, G for good, or B for bad, and
not venture upon giving a written opinion.
He then impressed upon his two coadjutors
the necessity of their being impartial, and
quite independent of his opinion, in such a
manner, that they both retired from the
presence secretly determined to agree with his
high mightiness at all hazards.

This may seem a little hard upon the two
professors; but, if I spoke of them as strictly
honest, it must be at the expense of their
wisdom, and where are the professors who
would not rather be accounted wise than
held immaculate? It is also impossible for
me to forget, that it was these two misguided
men who did in fact award the chancellor"s
medal to Jones.

All the manuscripts arrived at the
appointed time at the Vice–Chancellor's, neatly
folded up and sealed, each with its motto, as
though it were a pastrycook's kiss: three–
and–forty Palmam–qut–meruit–ferats, and
thirteen quotations culled from the Latin
grammar, besides all the beautifully
appropriate superscriptions of the classical men,
whose poetic merits upon these occasions are
a good deal concentrated in the mottos. The
Vice–Chancellor must have had a very fearful
time of it for the next three nights, if he
really did read those various effusions;
they do say he got his butler to help him;
but the thing occurred long since, and it is
well to let bygones be bygones. If he really
did read them, I repeat, it is a wonder he
did not die of Aurora Borealis. However, he
finished his work at last somehow or
other, and sent the terrible epics on (by cart)
to No. Two.

Now, the mathematical professor was a
mistaken man in being so convinced that he
knew everything, except how to play on the violin.
He knew nothing whatever about
poetry. To him, as to a certain brother
professor before him, it was all assertion without
one word of proof. When he came to the
manuscript marked g he opened it, with his
mind half made up already. Although the
dazzling no–meaninguess of the author greatly
puzzled him,—and how that Aurora Boreulis
did flash about Jones's poem!—yet, seeing
within as without, the g g g occurring where
the verses were, to him, even more
incomprehensible than elsewhere, he quietly put
his g g g opposite to the same places, deeming
that the things, perhaps, were what people
called poetic ideas, although with  scorn in
his mind.

There were no g's, I am truly happy to
say, about Herbert Brown"s manuscript.

No. Three on getting the cartful of epics
in his turn, divorced his mind with pain
from the Greek particles to give them his
best attention, which, under the circumstances,
was not very good; and, coming upon the
Vice–Chancellor's g's, endorsed with the
g"s of No. Two he at once concluded that
Jones must needs be the man for the
chancellor"s medal; while his own inability to
understand him he set down to the same
cause which rendered himself incapable of
grappling with anything else—the particles:
his g was accordingly inscribed opposite to
the others, making an array of approbation
triply strong for the fortunate Jones. That
spasmodic and slightly incoherent young man,
therefore, obtained the medal, and recited in
the senate–house to a brilliant audience of
wondering, but fashionably attired ladies, his
panegyric upon the northern lights; and
Herbert Brown was nowhere.

When, however, the three examiners met
at some social entertainment shortly
afterwards and the bonds of official reserve
had got relaxed, the following conversation
arose:

"Why,"said the Vice–Chancellor to
No. Three, "did you and your brother
professor there, put a g opposite
to that insane epic of Mr. Jones's?"

No. Three, who was as usual among the
particles, had to disentangle himself before
he could reply; so No. Two anticipated him.

"Why, you put a g yourself, Mr. Vice–Chancellor,
you know you did."

"A g, sir! Pooh, sir," responded that
dignitary, in a contemptuous tone, "I thought
it sheer madness. I put a q, sir—a q for
query; meaning that I could not for the life
of me understand what the young man
meant."

And that was how Jones got the English
verse–medal.

MY LADY LUDLOW.

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.

"PIERRE went on pretending to read, but
in reality listening with acute tension of ear
to every little sound. His perceptions
became so sensitive in this respect that he was
unable to measure time, every moment had
seemed so full of noises, from the beating of
his heart up to the roll of the heavy carts in
the distance. He wondered whether
Virginie would have been able to reach the
place of rendezvous, and yet he was unable
to compute the passage of minutes. His
mother slept soundly: that was well. By
this time Virginie must have met the "faithful
cousin: "if, indeed, Morin had not made his
appearance.

"At length he felt as if he could no longer
sit still, awaiting the issue, but must run out
and see what course events had taken. In
vain his mother, half–rousing herself, called
after him to ask whither he was going; he
was already out of hearing before she had
ended her sentence, and he ran on until
stopped by the sight of Mademoiselle Cannes
walking along at so swift a pace that it was
almost a run; while at her side, resolutely
keeping by her, Morin was striding abreast.