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"MRS. FLANDERS" …… "Poor Betty Flanders" …… "Dear Betty" …… "She's very attractive still" …… "Odd she don't marry again! " "There's Captain Barfoot to be sure……calls every Wednesday as regular as clockwork, and never brings his wife.”
“弗兰德斯太太” …… “可怜的贝蒂•弗兰德斯” …… “亲爱的贝蒂” …… “她依然很迷人” …… “奇怪，她怎么没有再婚！” “没错，是有个巴富特上尉……每周三都去拜访她，雷打不动，而且从来不带他的妻子。”
"But that's Ellen Barfoot's fault, " the ladies of Scarborough said. "She don't put herself out for no one. "
“但那是埃伦•巴富特的不是，” 斯卡巴勒的女士们说道， “她不会替别人考虑。”
"A man likes to have a son……that we know. "
“男人都想要个儿子……这我们都知道。”
"Some tumours have to be cut; but the sort my mother had you bear with for years and years, and never even have a cup of tea brought up to you in bed. "
“有的瘤子一定得切除；但我母亲得的那种，就得年复一年地忍受，卧病在床甚至都没人端杯茶过来。”
(Mrs. Barfoot was an invalid. )
（巴富特太太是个病人。）
Elizabeth Flanders, of whom this and much more than this had been said and would be said, was, of course, a widow in her prime. She was half……way between forty and fifty. Years and sorrow between them; the death of Seabrook, her husband; three boys; poverty; a house on the outskirts of Scarborough; her brother, poor Morty's, downfall and possible demise…… for where was he? what was he? Shading her eyes, she looked along the road for Captain Barfoot……yes, there he was, punctual as ever; the attentions of the Captain……all ripened Betty Flanders, enlarged her figure, tinged her face with jollity, and flooded her eyes for no reason that any one could see perhaps three times a day.
这些闲言碎语所提及的人正是伊丽莎白•弗兰德斯，关于她的评论还不止这些，过去一直有人说，将来还会继续说下去。当然了，她是个风华正茂的寡妇。她的年龄介于四十到五十岁之间。这些年满是岁月的流逝和悲伤：她丈夫西布鲁克的死亡；三个年幼的男孩；穷困；一所在斯卡巴勒郊区的房子；她的兄弟，可怜的莫迪，潦倒不堪，可能已经不在人世了……他在哪儿呢？他干些什么工作？她用手遮着眼睛，顺着马路寻找巴富特上尉的身影……是的，他来了，一如既往地准时；上尉的殷勤使贝蒂•弗兰德斯愈发成熟，使她体态丰满，面带欢颜，任谁都可能一天三次地看见她眼里无端端溢满泪水。
True, there's no harm in crying for one's husband, and the tombstone, though plain, was a solid piece of work, and on summer's days when the widow brought her boys to stand there one felt kindly towards her. Hats were raised higher than usual; wives tugged their husbands' arms. Seabrook lay six foot beneath, dead these many years; enclosed in three shells; the crevices sealed with lead, so that, had earth and wood been glass, doubtless his very face lay visible beneath, the face of a young man whiskered, shapely, who had gone out duck……shooting and refused to change his boots.
的确，为自己的丈夫哭泣无伤大雅，而且他丈夫的墓碑尽管普通，却也十分牢实，夏日里，当寡妇带着儿子们站在墓碑前时，人们都对她示以友好。帽子举得比平时要高些；妻子们挽着自己丈夫的臂弯。西布鲁克躺在六英尺黄土之下，已经去世好些个年头了；他被包裹在三层的保护壳里；缝隙处都用铅封上，这样，如果泥土和棺木是玻璃的话，毫无疑问，他埋在下面的脸清晰可见……一张年轻男子的脸，络腮胡子，样貌端正，他曾经外出打野鸭，还拒绝换靴子。
"Merchant of this city, " the tombstone said; though why Betty Flanders had chosen so to call him when, as many still remembered, he had only sat behind an office window for three months, and before that had broken horses, ridden to hounds, farmed a few fields, and run a little wild…… well, she had to call him something. An example for the boys.
墓碑上刻着 “本市的商人” 几个字；贝蒂•弗兰德斯也不知道为什么选择这个职业来称呼他，许多人仍然记得，他仅仅在办公室的玻璃窗下坐过三个月而已，此前驯过马，带着猎犬狩过猎，种过几亩地，有点儿不羁……嗯，她总得给他一个称呼。为孩子们树个榜样。
Had he, then, been nothing? An unanswerable question, since even if it weren't the habit of the undertaker to close the eyes, the light so soon goes out of them. At first, part of herself; now one of a company, he had merged in the grass, the sloping hillside, the thousand white stones, some slanting, others upright, the decayed wreaths, the crosses of green tin, the narrow yellow paths, and the lilacs that drooped in April, with a scent like that of an invalid's bedroom, over the churchyard wall. Seabrook was now all that; and when, with her skirt hitched up, feeding the chickens, she heard the bell for service or funeral, that was Seabrook's voice……the voice of the dead.
那么，他是否是个无名小卒呢？这是个无法回答的问题，因为即使送葬人没有给死者合眼的习惯，那眼里的光芒也很快就熄灭了。起初，他是她的一部分；现在，他已经融进青草地、斜山坡、上千块白石碑（有些歪斜着，有些直立着），朽了的花圈，绿色锡皮做的十字架，狭窄的黄色小道，以及凋零在四月天的丁香花（花朵带着病人卧室的气味，探出了墓地墙头）之中，成为了他们中的一员。现在，西布鲁克就是所有这一切；而当她提起裙摆去喂鸡，听见做礼拜或举行葬礼的钟声时，那就是西布鲁克的声音……亡者之声。
The rooster had been known to fly on her shoulder and peck her neck, so that now she carried a stick or took one of the children with her when she went to feed the fowls.
那只公鸡总是飞上她的肩膀啄她的脖子，所以现在她去喂鸡时，会带上一只木棍或是一个孩子。
"Wouldn't you like my knife, mother? " said Archer. Sounding at the same moment as the bell, her son's voice mixed life and death inextricably, exhilaratingly.
“妈妈，你不喜欢我的刀子吗？” 阿彻问道。儿子的声音与钟声同时响起，将生与死交织在一起，无法剥离，令人亢奋。
"What a big knife for a small boy! " she said. She took it to please him. Then the rooster flew out of the hen……house, and, shouting to Archer to shut the door into the kitchen garden, Mrs. Flanders set her meal down, clucked for the hens, went bustling about the orchard, and was seen from over the way by Mrs. Cranch, who, beating her mat against the wall, held it for a moment suspended while she observed to Mrs. Page next door that Mrs. Flanders was in the orchard with the chickens.
“对一个小男孩来说，这把刀可太大了！” 她说道。为了让他高兴，她接过了刀。此时，那只公鸡飞出了鸡窝，弗兰德斯太太大声喊着让阿彻关上通往菜园子的门，她放下鸡食，咯咯地唤着母鸡，又到果园里忙活。路对面的克兰奇太太正往墙上拍打垫子，她望见了弗兰德斯太太，便拿着垫子停了一会儿，对隔壁的佩奇太太说，弗兰德斯太太和鸡在果园里。
Mrs. Page, Mrs. Cranch, and Mrs. Garfit could see Mrs. Flanders in the orchard because the orchard was a piece of Dods Hill enclosed; and Dods Hill dominated the village. No words can exaggerate the importance of Dods Hill. It was the earth; the world against the sky; the horizon of how many glances can best be computed by those who have lived all their lives in the same village, only leaving it once to fight in the Crimea, like old George Garfit, leaning over his garden gate smoking his pipe. The progress of the sun was measured by it; the tint of the day laid against it to be judged.
佩奇太太、克兰奇太太和加菲特太太都能看见弗兰德斯太太在果园里，因为那果园是在多兹山上圈出来的一块地；而多兹山则俯视着全村。多兹山的重要性，无论怎样强调都不为过。它是大地；是天底下的世界；最好算算有多少人终身生活在这个村落里，那是他们目所能及的地平线，他们唯一一次离开，是为了参加克里米亚战争，那位依靠在自家花园大门上吸着烟斗的老乔治•加菲特就是如此。多兹山衡量着太阳的东升西落；投射在多兹山上的白昼的色彩是判断的标准。
"Now she's going up the hill with little John, " said Mrs. Cranch to Mrs. Garfit, shaking her mat for the last time, and bustling indoors. Opening the orchard gate, Mrs. Flanders walked to the top of Dods Hill, holding John by the hand. Archer and Jacob ran in front or lagged behind; but they were in the Roman fortress when she came there, and shouting out what ships were to be seen in the bay. For there was a magnificent view ……moors behind, sea in front, and the whole of Scarborough from one end to the other laid out flat like a puzzle. Mrs. Flanders, who was growing stout, sat down in the fortress and looked about her.
“现在她正带着小约翰往山上去呢。” 克兰奇太太对加菲特太太说着，最后一次抖了抖手中的垫子，然后匆匆回屋去了。弗兰德斯太太打开果园的门，牵着约翰的手，向多兹山顶走去。阿彻和雅各布时而跑到前头，时而又落在后面；当她到达山顶时，他们已经在那座罗马堡垒里了，他们大声说在海湾里将会看见什么轮船。这里的景致十分壮丽……后头是沼泽地，前面是大海，而整个斯卡巴勒，从这一头到那一头，像块拼图一样平躺在眼前。有点儿发福的弗兰德斯太太在堡垒中坐下，四下观望。
The entire gamut of the view's changes should have been known to her; its winter aspect, spring, summer and autumn; how storms came up from the sea; how the moors shuddered and brightened as the clouds went over; she should have noted the red spot where the villas were building; and the criss……cross of lines where the allotments were cut; and the diamond flash of little glass houses in the sun. Or, if details like these escaped her, she might have let her fancy play upon the gold tint of the sea at sunset, and thought how it lapped in coins of gold upon the shingle. Little pleasure boats shoved out into it; the black arm of the pier hoarded it up. The whole city was pink and gold; domed; mist……wreathed; resonant; strident. Banjoes strummed; the parade smelt of tar which stuck to the heels; goats suddenly cantered their carriages through crowds. It was observed how well the Corporation had laid out the flower……beds. Sometimes a straw hat was blown away. Tulips burnt in the sun. Numbers of sponge……bag trousers were stretched in rows. Purple bonnets fringed soft, pink, querulous faces on pillows in bath chairs. Triangular hoardings were wheeled along by men in white coats. Captain George Boase had caught a monster shark. One side of the triangular hoarding said so in red, blue, and yellow letters; and each line ended with three differently coloured notes of exclamation.
这景致的变换，她早已全然知晓；它冬天的景致，春天，夏天和秋天；海上如何卷起风暴；云团翻滚之时，沼泽地是如何地战栗又快活；她应该留意到了那片红色的地方，在那里别墅群正拔地而起；那纵横交错的界线把分配的地块分隔开；阳光下小小的温室发出钻石般的光芒。或者，如果她没留意到这些细节的话，她应该让自己的想象力在落日时分驰骋于泛着金光的大海上，思量着大海是如何用金币拍打着岸上的鹅卵石的。几个小小的游船被推进了大海；码头那黝黑臂弯将大海收拢起来。整个城市都是粉红与金色相间的；半球形；云雾缭绕；空谷回音；尖锐刺耳。班卓琴漫不经心地弹奏着；游行的队伍有股粘在鞋跟上的柏油的气味；浪荡子们突然策马，马车慢跑着穿过人群。可以看见，公司将花坛布置得多么好啊。时不时有一顶草帽被风吹掉。阳光下，郁金香尽情绽放。许多穿着防水裤子的人成排成排地在沙滩上舒展身体。紫色的女式软帽包着一张张枕在沙滩椅枕头上的娇柔而粉嫩的脸，脸上满是牢骚。穿着白色上衣的男子们推着三角形的围板走过。乔治•博厄斯上尉曾捕到过一条巨鲨。在三角形围板的一面用红、蓝、黄三色的字这样写着；每一行的末尾都打上了三种不同颜色的感叹号。
So that was a reason for going down into the Aquarium, where the sallow blinds, the stale smell of spirits of salt, the bamboo chairs, the tables with ash……trays, the revolving fish, the attendant knitting behind six or seven chocolate boxes (often she was quite alone with the fish for hours at a time) remained in the mind as part of the monster shark, he himself being only a flabby yellow receptacle, like an empty Gladstone bag in a tank. No one had ever been cheered by the Aquarium; but the faces of those emerging quickly lost their dim, chilled expression when they perceived that it was only by standing in a queue that one could be admitted to the pier. Once through the turnstiles, every one walked for a yard or two very briskly; some flagged at this stall; others at that.
所以，这不失为下到水族馆里去的一个理由，那里灰黄色的百叶窗，盐酸的馊味，竹椅子，放着烟灰缸的桌子，来回游动的鱼，在六七个巧克力盒子后头织毛线的服务员（她常常一连数小时只和鱼呆在一块儿）作为巨鲨的一部分留存在脑海里，那巨鲨本身也仅仅是只软啪啪的黄色容器，就像是鱼池里一只空空的手提旅行包。从来没有人曾在水族馆里感到快乐过；但是当出现在这里的人们得知必须排队才能进入码头时，他们脸上暗淡、冰冷的表情一扫而光。一旦通过转门，每个人都非常轻快地走上个一两码的距离；一些在这个货摊上停停；一些在那些货摊上看看。
But it was the band that drew them all to it finally; even the fishermen on the lower pier taking up their pitch within its range.
但最终把他们都吸引过去的是乐队；就连更低处的码头的渔民也把他们的摊位搬至乐声所及的范围内。
The band played in the Moorish kiosk. Number nine went up on the board. It was a waltz tune. The pale girls, the old widow lady, the three Jews lodging in the same boarding……house, the dandy, the major, the horse……dealer, and the gentleman of independent means, all wore the same blurred, drugged expression, and through the chinks in the planks at their feet they could see the green summer waves, peacefully, amiably, swaying round the iron pillars of the pier.
乐队在摩尔风格的亭子里表演。黑板上写着第九个曲目。是华尔兹。苍白的姑娘们，那个老寡妇，三个寄宿在同一家旅馆的犹太人，纨绔子弟，少校，贩马商，以及那位有着独立收入的绅士，他们所有人的脸上都是一副迷离的、麻木的表情，透过脚下木板的缝隙，他们可以看见夏日碧绿的波浪，波浪平静地、温柔地在码头的铁柱周围荡漾。
But there was a time when none of this had any existence (thought the young man leaning against the railings). Fix your eyes upon the lady's skirt; the grey one will do……above the pink silk stockings. It changes; drapes her ankles……the nineties; then it amplifies……the seventies; now it's burnished red and stretched above a crinoline……the sixties; a tiny black foot wearing a white cotton stocking peeps out. Still sitting there? Yes……she's still on the pier. The silk now is sprigged with roses, but somehow one no longer sees so clearly. There's no pier beneath us. The heavy chariot may swing along the turnpike road, but there's no pier for it to stop at, and how grey and turbulent the sea is in the seventeenth century! Let's to the museum. Cannon……balls; arrow……heads; Roman glass and a forceps green with verdigris. Jaspar Floyd dug them up at his own expense early in the forties in the Roman camp on Dods Hill……see the little ticket with the faded writing on it.
但是曾几何时，这一切都不存在（那位倚靠在栏杆上的年青人心里这样想）。将你的目光定格在女士的裙子上；那条灰色的就行……在粉红色长丝袜的上面。它在不断变化；盖过她的脚踝……是九十年代的；然后变肥大了……是七十年代的；现在它又闪着红光，舒展在衬裙架上……是六十年代的；一只穿着白色棉袜的小黑脚隐约地露了出来。还坐在那里吗？是的……她仍在码头上。现在的绸子上点缀着玫瑰花枝，但不知怎的，人们再也不能看得那么清晰了。我们脚下没有码头。沉重的四轮马车可以轻驰在付费公路上，但没有码头能让它停靠了，十七世纪的海洋是多么阴沉狂暴啊！我们去博物馆吧。加农炮弹；弓箭头；古罗马的杯子以及一把布满铜绿的钳子。早在四十年代，贾斯帕•弗洛伊德自己掏腰包在多兹山上的罗马营地里挖出了这些东西……看看这张字迹已经褪色的小标签。
And now, what's the next thing to see in Scarborough?
而现在，下一步该在斯卡巴勒看什么了？
Mrs. Flanders sat on the raised circle of the Roman camp, patching Jacob's breeches; only looking up as she sucked the end of her cotton, or when some insect dashed at her, boomed in her ear, and was gone.
弗兰德斯太太坐在罗马营地凸起的围场上，给雅各布缝马裤；仅仅在抿棉线头的时候，或当小飞虫朝她冲过来，在她耳边嗡嗡叫然后飞走的时候，她才抬眼看一看。
John kept trotting up and slapping down in her lap grass or dead leaves which he called "tea, " and she arranged them methodically but absent……mindedly, laying the flowery heads of the grasses together, thinking how Archer had been awake again last night; the church clock was ten or thirteen minutes fast; she wished she could buy Garfit's acre.
约翰总是一路小跑，将他称作 “茶” 的草或者枯叶使劲塞进她的裙兜里，而她则有条不紊又心不在焉地把它们整理好，将小草带有花的一端放在一起，想着昨夜里阿彻怎么又醒了；教堂的钟快了十或十三分钟；她希望能买下加菲特的那一英亩地。
"That's an orchid leaf, Johnny. Look at the little brown spots. Come, my dear. We must go home.
“那是片兰花叶子，约翰尼。看看这些褐色的小点点。过来，亲爱的。我们要回家了。”
Ar……cher! Ja……cob! "Ar……cher! Ja……cob! " Johnny piped after her, pivoting round on his heel, and strewing the grass and leaves in his hands as if he were sowing seed. Archer and Jacob jumped up from behind the mound where they had been crouching with the intention of springing upon their mother unexpectedly, and they all began to walk slowly home.
阿……彻！雅……各布！ “阿……彻！雅……各布！” 约翰尼跟着她尖起嗓子喊，以脚跟为轴转着，一面撒着手中的草和叶子，好像他正在播种似的。阿彻和雅各布从一个土丘后面一跃而起，他们一直蹲伏在那里，打算出其不意吓妈妈一跳，他们开始慢慢地走回家去。
"Who is that? " said Mrs. Flanders, shading her eyes.
“那人是谁？” 弗兰德斯太太用手挡着眼睛问道。
"That old man in the road? " said Archer, looking below.
“路上的那个老头儿吗？” 阿彻边说边向下望。
"He's not an old man, " said Mrs. Flanders. "He 's……no, he's not……I thought it was the Captain, but it's Mr. Floyd. Come along, boys. "
“他不是老头儿。” 弗兰德斯太太说。 “他是……不，他不是……我以为是上尉，不过他是弗洛伊德先生。快点，孩子们。”
"Oh, bother Mr. Floyd! " said Jacob, switching off a thistle's head, for he knew already that Mr. Floyd was going to teach them Latin, as indeed he did for three years in his spare time, out of kindness, for there was no other gentleman in the neighbourhood whom Mrs. Flanders could have asked to do such a thing, and the elder boys were getting beyond her, and must be got ready for school, and it was more than most clergymen would have done, coming round after tea, or having them in his own room ……as he could fit it in……for the parish was a very large one, and Mr. Floyd, like his father before him, visited cottages miles away on the moors, and, like old Mr. Floyd, was a great scholar, which made it so unlikely……she had never dreamt of such a thing. Ought she to have guessed? But let alone being a scholar he was eight years younger than she was. She knew his mother……old Mrs. Floyd. She had tea there. And it was that very evening when she came back from having tea with old Mrs. Floyd that she found the note in the hall and took it into the kitchen with her when she went to give Rebecca the fish, thinking it must be something about the boys.
“哦，讨厌的弗洛德先生！” 雅各布一面说一面将一根蓟草的顶上的部分拧下来，因为他已经知道弗洛伊德先生将要来教授他们拉丁文，而事实上，出于好心，他利用空余时间来教拉丁文已有三年了，因为在这一地区，弗兰德斯太太找不到其他先生来教孩子，她已经管不住两个大点儿的孩子了，而且她也必须准备送孩子上学了。在他能够挤出时间的时候……在下午茶后前来拜访，或是在他自己的房间里教他们，绝大多数牧师都不会这样做，因为这是个非常大的教区，弗洛伊德先生像他父亲先前那样，造访几英里以外的沼泽地里的农舍，而且，像老弗洛伊德先生一样，他是个大学问家，这使得这件事太不可能了……她做梦也没想过这样的事情。她应该猜得到吗？但是，他比她小八岁呢，且不说还是个学者。她认识他的母亲……老弗洛伊德太太。她在那儿喝过下午茶。就在她与老弗洛伊德太太喝过下午茶回来的那天傍晚，她在门厅走廊上发现了那张便条，就拿着它走进厨房，把鱼交给丽贝卡，寻思着肯定是关于孩子们的什么事情。
"Mr. Floyd brought it himself, did he? ……I think the cheese must be in the parcel in the hall……oh, in the hall……" for she was reading. No, it was not about the boys.
“弗洛伊德先生自己送来的，是吗？……我想奶酪肯定是在走廊上的袋子里……哦，在走廊里……” 因为她正在读信。不，谈的不是关于孩子们的事。
"Yes, enough for fish……cakes to……morrow certainly……Perhaps Captain Barfoot……" she had come to the word "love. " She went into the garden and read, leaning against the walnut tree to steady herself. Up and down went her breast. Seabrook came so vividly before her. She shook her head and was looking through her tears at the little shifting leaves against the yellow sky when three geese, half……running, half……flying, scuttled across the lawn with Johnny behind them, brandishing a stick.
“是的，肯定够明天做鱼饼用的了……也许巴富特上尉……” 她读到了 “爱” 字。她走进花园里去看信，靠着胡桃树稳住身体。她的胸脯上下起伏。西布鲁克的形象生动地展现在她面前。她摇摇头，透过泪水看见摇摆着的小树叶映衬在黄色的天空下，三只白鹅半飞半跑着急促地穿过草坪，约翰尼挥舞着棍子在后头撵着。
Mrs. Flanders flushed with anger.
弗兰德斯太太气得满脸通红。
"How many times have I told you? " she cried, and seized him and snatched his stick away from him.
“我给你说过多少次了？” 她边喊边抓住约翰尼，把木棍从他手里夺下来。
"But they'd escaped! " he cried, struggling to get free.
“可它们逃出来了呀！” 他哭喊道，挣扎着要逃脱。
"You're a very naughty boy. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. I won't have you chasing the geese! " she said, and crumpling Mr. Floyd's letter in her hand, she held Johnny fast and herded the geese back into the orchard.
“你可真是个淘气包。我告诉过不下一千遍了。不许你去追赶那些鹅！” 她一面说着，一面将弗洛伊德的信揉在手里，紧拽住约翰尼，把鹅群赶回果园里。
"How could I think of marriage! " she said to herself bitterly, as she fastened the gate with a piece of wire. She had always disliked red hair in men, she thought, thinking of Mr. Floyd's appearance, that night when the boys had gone to bed. And pushing her work……box away, she drew the blotting……paper towards her, and read Mr. Floyd's letter again, and her breast went up and down when she came to the word "love, " but not so fast this time, for she saw Johnny chasing the geese, and knew that it was impossible for her to marry any one……let alone Mr. Floyd, who was so much younger than she was, but what a nice man……and such a scholar too.
“我怎么能考虑结婚呢！” 她用一条铁丝扣牢大门时，心酸地自言自语道。那天夜里，孩子们上床睡觉后，回想起弗洛伊德先生的样貌，她觉得自己向来不喜欢红头发的男人。她推开针线盒，拉过一张吸墨纸，又读了一遍弗洛伊德先生的来信，当看到 “爱” 字时，她的胸脯上下起伏，但这一次没那么急促了，因为当看见约翰尼追着鹅跑时，她就知道她不可能和任何人结婚……更不用说弗洛伊德先生了，这个比她年轻许多的人，可他是多好的一个男人啊……还饱读诗书呢。
"Dear Mr. Floyd, " she wrote. …… "Did I forget about the cheese? " she wondered, laying down her pen. No, she had told Rebecca that the cheese was in the hall. "I am much surprised... " she wrote.
“亲爱的弗洛伊德先生，” 她写道。…… “我忘了奶酪了吗？” 她寻思着放下了笔。不，她已经告诉丽贝卡奶酪在门厅走廊里。 “我非常震惊……” 她写道。
But the letter which Mr. Floyd found on the table when he got up early next morning did not begin "I am much surprised, " and it was such a motherly, respectful, inconsequent, regretful letter that he kept it for many years; long after his marriage with Miss Wimbush, of Andover; long after he had left the village. For he asked for a parish in Sheffield, which was given him; and, sending for Archer, Jacob, and John to say good……bye, he told them to choose whatever they liked in his study to remember him by. Archer chose a paper……knife, because he did not like to choose anything too good; Jacob chose the works of Byron in one volume; John, who was still too young to make a proper choice, chose Mr. Floyd's kitten, which his brothers thought an absurd choice, but Mr. Floyd upheld him when he said: "It has fur like you. " Then Mr. Floyd spoke about the King's Navy (to which Archer was going); and about Rugby (to which Jacob was going); and next day he received a silver salver and went……first to Sheffield, where he met Miss Wimbush, who was on a visit to her uncle, then to Hackney……then to Maresfield House, of which he became the principal, and finally, becoming editor of a well……known series of Ecclesiastical Biographies, he retired to Hampstead with his wife and daughter, and is often to be seen feeding the ducks on Leg of Mutto As for Mrs. Flanders's letter……when he looked for it the other day he could not find it, and did not like to ask his wife whether she had put it away. Meeting Jacob in Piccadilly lately, he recognized him after three seconds. But Jacob had grown such a fine young man that Mr. Floyd did not like to stop him in the street.