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Keep your eyes open for him. The daughter was as obedient in listening to this counsel as she had been in regard to the others, for it fell in exactly with her own wishes; she was tired of being poor, of scrimping and saving and 'keeping up appearances. The innumerable young bank clerks and journalists and teachers and college students who fluttered about her burnt their moth-wings to no avail.
My hero too was in love and in trouble; and after I had written a sentence and a half, I found myself experiencing the fate of Heine when he roused the Sphinx of past love by reading his own old verses: Lebendig ward das Marmorbild, Der Stein begann zu aechzen. In a few moments I was pacing up and down the room, eager to burn my moth-wings yet again in the old fire.
"No," said Will, shaking his head backward somewhat after the manner of a spirited horse. And then, the old irritable demon prompting him to give another good pinch at the moth-wings of poor Mr. Casaubon's glory, he went on, "And I have seen since that Mr. Casaubon does not like any one to overlook his work and know thoroughly what he is doing. He is too doubtful too uncertain of himself.
I'm afraid you expect a beautiful POEM, Though I make a long and tedious proem, But great and dreadful are my fears, No poem of mine will put you in TEARS. My genius suggests neither fairy nor witch, My tales to adorn with cauldrons of pitch, Alarm the world with fiery EYES, And from the hero snatch his prize, Leap out from her den with a terrible BOUNCE, And on the trembling damsel pounce, And bottle her up in a close corked JAR, Or whirl her away in a flaming car; Then her knight, the brave Sir FRANCIS, Upon his noble steed advances, All his armour off he LEAVES, Preserves alone his polished greaves, His defence is a buff JACKET, Nor sword nor axe nor lance can crack it, It was made at HARROGATE, By a tailor whose shop had a narrow gate; The elves attack with spears of BARLEY, But he drives them off, oh! rarely, Then they shoot him with an ARROW, From bow-strings greased with ear-wigs' marrow, The feathers, moth-wings downy VELVET, The bow-strings, of the spider's net: Thousands come, armed in this PATTERN, Which proves their mistress is no slattern; Some wear the legs and hoof of PAN, And some are in the form of man; But the knight is armed, for in his POCKET He has a talismanic locket, Which once belonged to HERCULES, Who wore it on his bunch of keys; The fairy comes, quite old and fat, Mounted upon a monstrous BAT; Around the knight a web she weaves, And holds him fast, and there she LEAVES Sir Francis weeping for his charmer, And longing for his knightly ARMOUR. But his sword was cast in the self-same forge As that of the great champion GEORGE; Thus he defies the witch's ARMY, He breaks his bands; 'Ye elves, beware me, I fear not your LEVIATHAN, No spells can stop a desperate man. Away in terror flies the REAR-GUARD, He seizes on the witch abhorred, Confines her in a COCKLE SHELL, And breaks all her enchantments fell, Catches her principal LIEUTENANT, Makes him of a split pine the tenant; Carries away the lady, nimble, As e'er Miss Merton plied her THIMBLE; Oh! this story would your frowns unbend.
Looking yet more closely, I saw that they were of the shape of folded wings, and were made of all kinds of butterfly-wings and moth-wings, crowded together like the feathers on the individual butterfly pinion; but, like them, most beautifully arranged, and producing a perfect harmony of colour and shade.
In at the open door, whose frame is arabesqued with hanging sprays of sweetbrier, with the pendent nest, with fluttering moth-wings sunshine-dusted, with crowds of bursting buds, pours the mellow sun in one great stream, pours from the peach-orchards the fragrant breeze laden with bird-song.
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