She
would rather talk with a man than an angel, any day.
--This frightful speech of mine reached the ear of our Scheherezade, who
said that it was perfectly shocking and that I deserved to be shown up as
the outlaw in one of her bandit stories.
Hush, my dear,--said the Lady,--you will have to bring John Milton into
your story with our friend there, if you punish everybody who says
naughty things like that. Send the little boy up to my chamber for
Paradise Lost, if you please. He will find it lying on my table. The
little old volume,--he can't mistake it.
So the girl called That Boy round and gave him the message; I don't know
why she should give it, but she did, and the Lady helped her out with a
word or two.
The little volume--its cover protected with soft white leather from a
long kid glove, evidently suggesting the brilliant assemblies of the days
when friends and fortune smiled-came presently and the Lady opened
it.---You may read that, if you like, she said,--it may show you that our
friend is to be pilloried in good company.
The Young Girl ran her eye along the passage the Lady pointed out,
blushed, laughed, and slapped the book down as though she would have
liked to box the ears of Mr. John Milton, if he had been a contemporary
and fellow-contributor to the "Weekly Bucket.
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