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"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

"Um-hm!" I thought; "Charlotte Oliver, eh?" I responded tartly that I had that very morning met four ladies the poetry of whose actual, visible loveliness had abundantly illustrated to me the needlessness and impertinence of fiction! By the way, did he not think feminine beauty was always in its ripest perfection at eighteen?

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

Whereat Cécile replied, "Ah--well! we cou'n' like you the leaz bit any-'ow."

"Don't interrupt me, Smith. Yes, Clifton. You're not to reach there to-night--"

"The enemy are in Fayette to-night," he continued. "So when you get half-way to Fayette, just across Morgan's Creek, you'll take a dim fork on the right running north along the creek. Ever travel by the stars?"

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