"You're E Pluribus—you're a brick," returned Mr. Smith, softening, "but where in thunder are those female women? They'ave sloped and given us the mitten, I spose"——
"You ain't posted up, my boy, if you think they'd given us the slip," answered his friend.
"By jingo! it takes the patience of all
the world and the rest of mankind to dance attendance upon them—they ain't as peart as our gals o' wind!" cried Mr. Smith, in an ecstasy of impatience.
"How's your ma, Mr. John Smith?" inquired the merry voice of "Jul," who had entered unperceived, "you'd better dry up!"
"Here we are, let's be off," shouted a young gentleman.
"All aboard," echoed another.
"Now we'll go it with a rush!" burst from a third, and, suiting the action to the word, my dramatis personæ vanished like the wind.
Having the happiness to pass a morning at the Louvre with my early and lamented friend, Washington Allston, he said to me, as arm in arm we sauntered slowly through one of the Galleries—"Come and study one of my particular favorites with me—one might as well attempt to taste all the nondescript dishes at a Chinese state-dinner as to enjoy every picture in a collection, at a single visit. I do not even glance at more than one or two, unless I know that I shall have months before me for renewing my inspection—better take away one distinct recollection, to add to one's private collection, than half a dozen confused, imperfect copies!"