head the Eagle, sculptured over the door-way, stretched his wings to
the uttermost, half-protectingly, half-threateningly, and seemed to
view Mr. Jukesbury with a certain air of expectation.
"A beautiful evening," Petheridge Jukesbury suggested, after a little
cogitation.
She conceded that this was undeniable.
"Where Nature smiles, and only the conduct of man is vile and
altogether what it ought not to be," he continued, with unction--"ah,
how true that is and how consoling! It is a good thing to meditate
upon our own vileness, Miss Hugonin--to reflect that we are but worms