One dealing with the adventures of Sir Alphonso and
the lovely Lady Leonora lingers in my memory, and I recall every word
of the dialogue. This latter was peculiar, for we had an idea that to
be archaic all personal pronouns had to be omitted. Part of it, I
remember, ran, "Dost love me, Leonora?" "Do." "Wilt fly with me?"
"Will." "Art frightened, fair one?" "Am." Everything in this thrilling
drama led up to the discovery of the hidden treasure which the
far-seeing Sir Alphonso had prudently buried in the garden in case of
emergencies. Treasure had, of course, to consist of gold, silver, and
coin. Some one had given me a tiny gold whistle; though small, it was
unquestionably of gold, and my brother was the proud possessor of a
silver pencil-case. These unfortunate objects must have been buried
and disinterred countless times in company with a French franc-piece.
To the eye of faith the whistle and the pencil-case became gleaming
ingots of gold and silver, and the solitary franc transformed itself
into iron-bound chests gorged with ducats, doubloons, or
pieces-of-eight: the last having a peculiarly attractive and romantic
sound.
In such fashion did we make our juvenile protest against the
drab-coloured age into which we had been born.
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