Do you know what it is to pursue the sylph, and touch her flying skirts, think you have caught her, and are sure of her--that she is yours, the rapturous evanescent darling! when some well-meaning earthly wretch interposes and trips you, and off she flies and leaves you floundering?
A lovely melody nearly grasped and lost in this fashion, tries the temper.

Apollo chasing Daphne could have been barely polite to the wood-nymphs in his path, and Mr.Pericles was rude to the daughters of his host.

Smoothing his clean square chin and thick moustache hastily, with outspread thumb and fingers, he implored them to spare his nerves.

Smiling rigidly, he trusted they would be merciful to a sensitive ear.

Mr.Pole--who, as an Englishman, could not understand anyone being so serious in the pursuit of a tune--laughed, and asked questions, and almost drove Mr.Pericles mad.