"A land where learned men are captivated by blue eyes and rosy

lips," answered the doctor, looking down into her sparkling face.

As they stood together Beulah remarked how very much Pauline

resembled him. True, he was pale, and she was a very Hebe, but the

dazzling transparency of the complexion was the same, the silky,

nut-brown hair the same, and the classical chiseling of mouth and

nose identical. Her eyes were "deeply, darkly," matchlessly blue,

and his were hazel; her features were quivering with youthful

joyousness and enthusiasm, his might have been carved in ivory, they

seemed so inflexible; still they were alike. Pauline did not exactly

relish the tone of his reply, and said hastily: "Uncle Guy, I wish you would not treat me as if I were an idiot; or,

what is not much better, a two-year-old child! How am I ever to

learn any sense?"

"Indeed, I have no idea," said he, passing his soft hand over her

glossy curls.

"You are very provoking! Do you want Ernest to think me a fool?"

"Have you waked to a consciousness of that danger?"

"Yes; and I want you to teach me something. Come, tell me what that

thing is I asked you about."

"Tell you what?"

"Why, what a--a 'Fourieristic-phalanx' is?" said she earnestly.

Beulah could not avoid smiling, and wondered how he managed to look

so very serious, as he replied: "I know very little about the tactics of Fourieristic-phalanxes, but

believe a phalange is a community or association of about eighteen

hundred persons, who were supposed or intended to practice the

Fourieristic doctrines. In fine, a phalange is a sort of French

Utopia."

"And where is that, sir?" asked Pauline innocently, without taking

her eyes from his face.

"Utopia is situated in No-country, and its chief city is on the

banks of the river Waterless."

"Oh, Uncle Guy! how can you quiz me so unmercifully, when I ask you

to explain things to me?"

"Why, Pauline, I am answering your questions correctly. Sir Thomas

More professed to describe Utopia, which means No-place, and

mentions a river Waterless. Don't look so desperately lofty. I will

show you the book, if you are so incorrigibly stupid." He passed his

arm round her as he spoke, and kept her close beside him.

"Mr. Lockhart, is he telling the truth?" cried she incredulously.

"Certainly he is," answered her stepfather, smiling.

"Oh, I don't believe either of you! You two think that I am simple

enough to believe any absurdity you choose to tell me. Beulah, what

is Utopia?"




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