The Dominie’s bosom grows too warm; so the party and the frost break up—I go with the stream and against it; make money both ways—Coolness between Mary and me—No chance of a Thames’ edition of Abelard and Eloise—Love, learning, and Latin all lost in a fit of the sulks.
“I say, Master Stapleton, suppose we were to knock out half a port,” observed old Tom, after a silence of two minutes; “for the old gentleman blows a devil of a cloud: that is, if no one has an objection.” Stapleton gave a nod of assent, and I rose and put the upper window down a few inches. “Ay, that’s right, Jacob; now we shall see what Miss Mary and he are about. You’ve been enjoying the lady all to yourself, master,” continued Tom, addressing the Dominie.
“Verily and truly,” replied the Dominie, “even as a second Jupiter.”
“Never heard of him.”
“I presume not; still, Jacob will tell thee that the history is to be found in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.”
“Never heard of the country, master.”
“Nay, friend Dux, it is a book, not a country, in which thou may’st read how Jupiter at first descended unto Semele in a cloud.”
“And pray, where did he come from, master?”
“He came from heaven.”
“The devil he did. Well, if ever I gets there, I mean to stay.”