"Well, then, my dear, it is my solemn conviction that you have not yet learned all you will one day know of the depth of the impression you have left upon the heart of Mr. Benton," I answered, with a gravity that I intended should tell.
"Mr. Benton! so that's his name?" laughed Mrs. Y——, gaily. "Julia pretended not to know his name! I thought it was a conquest! I have not yet had an opportunity of looking out the 'language' of a very large, full blown carnation pink!"
"No doubt," interrupted Mr. Y——, "it is precisely the opposite of lemon-juice!"
Between laughing and blushing, the fair subject of this badinage made but a faint show of resistance; but, at this juncture, she managed to say, as she turned to me, with a most courteous bow.
"I very much question whether the sentiments expressed by any flower can more readily touch the heart, than that I have known conveyed by a teaspoonful of brandy!"
"Bravo!" cried Mr. Y——.
"Well done, Julé!" echoed my hostess.
And I!—my feelings were too deep for words! I could only lay my hand upon my heart, and raise my eyes to the ceiling.
Perhaps there is no better test of the unexceptionableness of a habit, than to suppose it generally adopted, and infer the consequences. I remember some such reflection, in connection with a little circumstance that once fell under my observation:—Dining with a young Canadian, at his residence in Kingston, C. W., I met, among other persons, an English notability, of whom I had frequently heard and read. A slight pause in the conversation, made doubly audible a loud yawn proceeding from one corner of the dining-room, and, as a general look of surprise was visible, a huge Newfoundland dog approached us, stretching his limbs, and shaking from his shaggy coat anything but