Sometimes Miss Belcher or Mr.Rogers paid us a visit, and once the two together: and always they held long talks with the Major in his summer-house.

But they never invited me to be present at these interviews.
So the days slipped away and I almost forgot my fears, nor speculated how or when the end would come.

My elders were planning this for me, and meanwhile life, if a trifle dull, was pleasant enough.
What vexed me was the old man's obdurate politeness towards Isabel, and her evident distress.

It angered me the more that, when she was not by he gave never a sign that he brooded on what had befallen, but went on placidly polishing his petty and (to me) quite uninteresting verses.
But there came an evening when we finished the Fourth Georgic together.
"Of tillage, timber, herds, and hives, thus far My trivial lay--while Caesar thunders war To deep Euphrates, conquers, pacifies, Twice wins the world and now attempts the skies.
Pardon thy Virgil that Parthenope Sufficed a poor tame scholar, who on thee Whilom his boyish pastoral pipe essayed, -- Thee, Tityrus, beneath the beechen shade." He closed the book.
"Lord Wellington is not a Caesar," he said and paused, musing: then, in a low voice, "Parthenope--Parthenope--and to-morrow 'Arms and the man.' Boy," said he sharply, "we do not translate the Aeneid." "No, sir ?" "Mr.Rogers calls for you to-night.

A draft of the 52nd Regiment sails from Plymouth to-morrow.