Deans have danced to the same wild piping, though their chapters have hushed the matter up. Even Duchesses (they say) have ``come tripping doon the stair,'' rapt by the climbing passion from their strawberry-leaved surroundings into starlit spaces. Nay, ourselves, too -- the douce, respectable mediocrities that we are -- which of us but might recall some fearful outbreak whose details are mercifully unknown to the household that calls us breadwinner and chief? What marvel that up yonder the Hunter smiles? When he knows that every one in his ken, the tinker with the statesman, has caught his bugle blast and gone forth on its irresistible appeal!
Not that they are so easily followed as of yore, those flying echoes of the horn! Joints are stiffer, maybe; certainly the desolate suburbs creep
