In another second his interest overpowered his surprise, for he knew every word of the lines brought to his ears, for the very simple reason that they were his own.

Round the corner of that rock, so absorbed in admiration that he could hear no footstep, a very fine young man of the highest order was reading aloud in a powerful voice, and with extremely ardent gesticulation, a fine passage from that greatly undervalued poem, the Harmodiad, of and concerning the beauties of Freedom-- "No crown upon her comely head she bore, No wreath her affluent tresses to restrain; A smile the only ornament she wore, Her only gem a tear for others' pain.
Herself did not her own mishaps deplore, Because she lives immortal as the dew, Which falling from the stars soon mounts again; And in this wise all space she travels through, Beneficent as heaven, and to the earth more true.
"Her blessings all may win who seek the prize, If only they be faithful, meek, and strong, And crave not that which others' right denies, But march against the citadel of wrong.
A glorious army this, that finds allies Wherever God hath built the heart of man With attributes that to Himself belong; By Him ordained to crown what He began, And shatter despotism, which is the foul fiend's ban." Frank thought that he had never heard nobler reading, sonorous, clear, well timed, well poised, and of harmonious cadence.

The curved rock gave a melodious ring, and the husky waves a fine contrast to it, while the reader was so engrossed with grandeur--the grandeur of Frank's own mind!--that his hat could evidently not contain his head, but was flung at the mercy of his feet.

What a fine, expressive, and commanding face! If Frank Darling had been a Frenchman--which he sometimes longed to be, for the sake of that fair Liberty--the scene, instead of being awkward, would have been elegant, rapturous, ennobling.

But being of the clumsy English race, he was quite at a loss what to do with himself.