"Do you think, Mr. Truck," asked D.O.V.E. "that the profane songs of Little have more pathos than the sacred songs of Moore; or that the sacred songs of Moore have more sentiment than the profane songs of Little?"
"A good deal of both, marm, and something to spare. I think there is little in one, and more in the other."
"Pray, sir," said J.R.P., "do you pronounce the name of Byron's lady-love, Guy-kee-oh-ly, or, Gwy-ky-o-lee?"
"That depends on how the wind is. If on shore, I am apt to say 'oh-lee;' and if off shore, 'oh-lie.'"
"That's capital!" cried Florio, in an extasy of admiration. "What man in this country could have said as crack a thing as that?"
"Indeed it is very witty," added Miss Monthly--"what does it mean?"
"Mean! More than is seen or felt by common minds. Ah! the English are truly a great nation!--How delightfully he smokes!"
"I think he is much the most interesting man we have had out here," observed Miss Annual, "since the last bust of Scott!"
"Ask him, dear D.O.V.E.," whispered Julietta, who was timid, from the circumstance of never having published, "which he thinks the most ecstatic feeling, hope or despair?"
The question was put by the more experienced lady, according to request, though she first said, in a hurried tone, to her youthful sister--"you can have felt but little, child, or you would know that it is despair, as a matter of course."