There used to be lawyers in Rome that would do such things.--All right. There are two sides to everything. _Audi alteram partem_. The legal gentleman has no opinion,--he only states the evidence.--A doubtful case. Let the young lady be under the protection of the Honorable Decemvir until it can be looked up thoroughly.--Father thinks it best, on the whole, to give in. Will explain the matter, if the young lady and her maid will step this way. _That_ is the explanation,--a stab with a butcher's knife, snatched from a stall, meant for other lambs than this poor bleeding Virginia!
The old man thought over the story. Then he must have one look at the original. So he took down the first volume and read it over. When he came to that part where it tells how the young gentleman she was engaged to and a friend of his took up the poor girl's bloodless shape and carried it through the street, and how all the women followed, wailing, and asking if that was what their daughters were coming to,--if that was what they were to get for being good girls,--he melted down into his accustomed tears of pity and grief, and, through them all, of delight at the charming Latin of the narrative. But it was impossible to call his child Virginia. He could never look at her without thinking she had a knife sticking in her bosom.
_Dido_ would be a good name, and a fresh one. She was a queen, and the founder of a great city. Her story had been immortalized by the greatest of poets,--for the old Latin tutor clove to "Virgilius Maro," as he called him, as closely as ever Dante did in his memorable journey. So he took down his Virgil,--it was the smooth-leafed, open-lettered quarto of Baskerville,--and began reading the loves and mishaps of Dido. It wouldn't do. A lady who had not learned discretion by experience, and came to an evil end. He shook his head, as he sadly repeated,
"--misera ante diem, subitoque accensa furore";
"Ergo Iris croceis per coelum roscida pennis Mille trahens varios adverso Sole colores,"
he jumped up with a great exclamation, which the particular recording angel who heard it pretended not to understand, or it might have gone hard with the Latin tutor some time or other.
"_Iris_ shall be her name!"--he said. So her name was Iris.