I once borrowed his 'Lucile,' but somehow I never got interested in it.

I heard a recitation of his once, though--a piece about a dead wife, and the husband and another man quarrelling as to whose portrait was in the locket on her neck, and of their going up to settle the dispute, and finding that it was the likeness of a third man, a young priest--and though it was very striking, it didn't give me a thirst to know his other poems.

I fancied I shouldn't like them.

But I daresay I was wrong.

As I get older, I find that I take less narrow views of literature--that is, of course, of light literature--and that--that--" Celia mercifully stopped him.