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wner； and； instead of seeking a vague Golden Girl； make up your mind doggedly to find and marry her； or； failing that； carry the petticoat with you； as a sort of Cinderella's slipper； try it on any girl you happen to fancy； and marry her it exactly fits？〃
Now； I confess； that seemed to me quite a pretty idea； and I hope the reader will think so too。 If not； I'm afraid I can offer him no better explanation； and in fact I am all impatience to open my knapsack； and inform myself of the name of her to the discovery of whom my wanderings are henceforth to be devoted。
CHAPTER XVII
THE NAME UPON THE PETTICOAT
So imagine me seated in a grassy corner； with my knapsack open on the ground and my petticoat and silk stockings spread out in front of me；an odd picture； to be sure； for any passer by to come upon。 I suppose I could have passed for a pedlar； but undoubtedly it would have been very embarrassing。 However； as it happened； I remained undisturbed； and was able to examine my purchases at leisure。 I had never seen a petticoat so near before；at all events I had never given one such close attention。 What delicious dainty things they are！ How essentially womanlyas I hope no one would call a pair of trousers essentially manly。
How pretty it looked spread out on the grass in front of me！ How soft！ how wondrously dainty the finish of every little seam！ And the lace！ It almost tempts one to change one's sex to wear such things。 There was a time indeed； and not so long ago； when brave men wore garments no less dainty。
Rupert's Cavaliers were every bit as particular about their lace collars and frills as the lady whose pretty limbs once warmed this cambric。
But where is the name？ Ah！ here it is！ What sweet writing！ 〃Sylvia Joy； No。 6。〃
Sylvia Joy！ What a perfectly enchanting name！ and as I repeated it enthusiastically； it seemed to have a certain familiarity for my ear；as though it were the name of some famous beauty or some popular actress；yet the exact association eluded me； and obviously it was better it should remain a name of mystery。 Sylvia Joy！ Who could have hoped for such a pretty name！ Indeed； to tell the truth； I had dreaded to find a 〃Mary Jones〃 or an 〃Ann Williams〃 but Sylvia Joy！ The name was a romance in itself。 I already felt myself falling in love with its unseen owner。 With such a petticoat and such a name； Sylvia herself could not be otherwise than delightful too。 Already； you see； I was calling her by her Christian name！ And the more I thought of her； the stronger grew the conviction which has no doubt already forced itself upon the romantic readerthat we were born for each other。
But who is Sylvia； who is she？ and likewise where is Sylvia； where is she？ Obviously they were questions not to be answered off…hand。 Was not my futureat all events my immediate futureto be spent in answering them？
Indeed； curiously enough； my recent haste to have them answered had suddenly died down。 A sort of matrimonial security possessed me。 I felt as I imagine a husband may feel on a solitary holidayif there are husbands unnatural enough to go holidaying without their wivespleasantly conscious of a home tucked somewhere beneath the distant sunset； yet in no precipitate hurry to return there before the appointed day。
In fact； a chill tremor went through me as I realised that； to all intent； I was at length respectably settled down； with quite a considerable retrospect of happy married life。 To come to a decision is always to bring something to an end。 And； with something of a pang； resolutely stifled； I realised for a moment the true blessedness of the single state I was so soon to leave behind。 At all events； a little golden fragment of bachelorhood remained。 There was yet a fertile strip of time wherein to sow my last handful of the wild oats of youth。 So festina lente； my destined Sylvia； festina lente！
CHAPTER XVIII
IN WHICH THE NAME OF A GREAT POET IS CRIED OUT IN A SOLITARY PLACE
As I once more shouldered my pack and went my way； the character of the country side began to change； and； from a semi… pastoral heathiness and furziness； took on a wildness of aspect； which if indeed melodramatic was melodrama carried to the point of genius。
It was a scene for which the nineteenth century has no worthy use。 It finds ignoble occupation as a gaping…ground for the vacuous tourist；somewhat as Heine might have imagined Pan carrying the gentleman's luggage from the coach to the hotel。 It suffers teetotal picnic…parties to encamp amid its savage hollows； and it humbly allows itself to be painted by the worst artists。 Like a lion in a menagerie； it is a survival of the extinct chaos entrapped and exhibited amid the smug parks and well…rolled downs of England。
I came upon it by a winding ledge of road； which clung to the bare side of the hill like the battlements of some huge castle。 Some two hundred feet below； a brawling upland stream stood for the moat； and for the enemy there was on the opposite side of the valley a great green company of trees； settled like a cloud slope upon slope； making all haste to cross the river and ascend the heights where I stood。 Some intrepid larches waved green pennons in the very midst of the turbulent water； here and there a veteran lay with his many…summered head abased in the rocky course of the stream； and here was a young foolhardy beech that had climbed within a dozen yards of the rampart。 All was wild and solitary； and one might have declared it a scene untrodden by the foot of man； but for the telegraph posts and small piles of broken 〃macadam〃 at punctual intervals； and the ginger…beer bottles and paper bags of local confectioners that lent an air of civilisation to the road。
It was a place to quote Alastor in； and nothing but a bad memory prevented my affrighting the oaks and rills with declamation。 As it was； I could only recall the lines
〃The Poet wandering on； through Arabie And Persia； and the wild Carmanian waste； And o'er the aerial mountains which pour down Indus and Oxus from their icy caves〃
and that other passage beginning
〃At length upon the lone Chorasmian shore He paused〃
This last I mouthed； loving the taste of its thunder； mouthed thrice； as though it were an incantation；and； indeed； from what immediately followed； it might reasonably have seemed so。
〃At length upon the lone Chorasmian shore He paused〃
I mouthed for the fourth time。 And lo！ advancing to me eagerly along the causeway seemed the very sprite of Alastor himself！ There was a star upon his forehead； and around his young face there glowed an aureole of gold and rosesto speak figuratively； for the star upon his brow was hope； and the gold and roses encircling his head； a miniature rainbow； were youth and health。 His longish golden hair had no doubt its share in the effect； as likewise the soft yellow silk tie that fluttered like a flame in the speed of his going。 His blue eyes were tragically fresh and clear；as though they had as yet been little used。 There were little wings of haste upon his feet； and he came straight to me； with the air of the Angel Gabriel about to make his divine announcement。 For a moment I thought that he was an apparition of prophecy charged to announce the maiden of the Lord for whom I was seeking。 However； his brief flushed question was not of these things。 He desired first to ask the time of day； and nexthere； after a bump to the earth； one's thoughts ballooned again heavenwards〃had I seen a green copy of Shelley lying anywhere along the road？〃
Nothing so good had happened to me； I repliedbut I believed that I had seen a copy of Alastor！ For a moment my meaning was lost on him； then he flushed and smiled； thanked me and was off again； saying that he must find his Shelley； as he wouldn't lose it for the world！
He had presently disappeared as suddenly as he had come； but he had left me a companion； a radiant reverberant name； and for some little space the name of Shelley clashed silvery music among the hills。
Its seven letters seemed to hang right across the clouds like the Seven Stars； an apocalyptic constellation； a veritable sky sign； and again the name was an angel standing with a silver trumpet； and again it was a song。 The heavens opened； and across the blue rift it hung in a glory of celestial fire； while from behind and above the clouds came a warbling as of innumerable larks。
How strange was this miracle of fame； I pondered； this strange apotheosis by which a mere private name becomes a public symbol！ Shelley was once a private person whose name had no more universal meaning than my own； and so were Byron and Cromwell and Shakespeare； yet now their names are facts as stubborn as the Rocky Mountains； or the National Gallery； or the circulation of the blood。 From their original inch or so of private handwriting they have spread and spread out across the world； and now whole generations of men find intellectual accommodation within them；drinking fountains and other public institutions are erected upon them； yea； Carlyle has become a Chelsea swimming…bath； and 〃Highland Mary〃 is sold for whiskey； while Mr。 Gladstone is to be met everywhere in the form of a bag