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This year the Reverend Dr. Franklin having published a translation of Lucian, inscribed to him the Demonax thus: 'To DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON, the Demonax of the present age, this piece is inscribed by a sincere admirer of his respectable talents,
There were but few to uphold and defend him the satirical Erasmus, who was called a second Lucian, the feeble Staupitz, the fanatical Carlstadt, and the inexperienced Melancthon. The worldly-minded, the learned, the powerful, and the conservative classes were his natural enemies. But he had reason and Scripture on his side, and he appealed to their great and final verdict.
There would be all the threadbare and common stratagems, the vulgarity of secret assignations, and an atmosphere suggesting the period of Mr. Thomas Moore and Lord Byron an "segars." Lucian had been afraid of all this; he had feared lest love itself should destroy love.
"You describe the dead man, Diana." "But he has not lost a finger," continued Diana, as though she had not heard him. "If my father, for fear of Lydia, is in hiding, he will come to you or me in answer to that advertisement." "But he must have seen the report of his death by violence in the papers, if indeed he is alive," urged Lucian, at his wit's end.
A look of fixed resolve settled down upon her countenance at last, and uncurling herself, she dropped lightly upon the ground. Madeline had made up her mind. That it would be useless to say aught of Lucian, she now knew too well. That she could never defy her father's commands, and still dwell beneath her father's roof, she also knew. She hesitated no longer.
Lucian. Ay, friend Rabelais, and sometimes out of countenance too. But Truth and Wit in confederacy will strike Momus dumb. United they are invincible, and such a union is necessary upon certain occasions.
The mid-morning sun was on the fields and groves like a benediction. The soft vitalizing air entered and took up the stench of liquor, the ash of tobacco and the imported perfumes affected by Mr. Lucian Morrow. The windows in the room were long, gothic like a church, and turning on a pivot. They ran into the ceiling that Monroe had built across the gutted walls.
This matter being attended to, she left the room, with a parting smile and especial bow to Lucian. Link smiled in his turn as he observed this Parthian shaft, the shooting of which was certainly out of keeping with Mrs. Vrain's character of a mourning widow. "You seem to have made an impression on the lady, Mr. Denzil," he said, with a slight cough to conceal his amusement.
"While Juliane, who sickened at the sight of the girl dancing on the edge of the grave, was pointing out to me some pages in the manuscript of Lucian, which I was to take from you to Herr Wilibald yonder, the unfortunate performer met with the terrible accident. We thought that she was killed, but, as if by a miracle, she lived. Ropedancing, of course, was over forever, as she had lost a foot.
"My darling!" cried Lucian in ecstasy; and then in a more subdued tone: "I'll do all I can to find out the truth. But, after all, from what point can I begin afresh?" "From the point of Mrs. Vrain," said Diana unexpectedly. "Mrs. Vrain!" cried the startled Lucian. "Do you still suspect her?" "Yes, I do!" "But she has cleared herself on the most undeniable evidence."
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