"So says the sage of eighteen—gay, gifted and caressed! You will not entrap me into a sermon;" said Mr. Lacy, sportively. "No! no! Miss Ida! you will regard me as a lineal descendant of Bunyan's Mr. Law—a Giant Grim, who frequents places of amusement to corner children, and relate scary stories to them."
"A monster who does not exhibit himself often;" returned Ida. "This is but the second large party at which I have seen you. Are you principled against them?"
"No, and yes. I do not disapprove of social pleasures. They make light, yet firm, the bands that cement our species. Their suppression would convert the most benevolent into a morose eremite; but I do see incipient evil in the frequency of these scenes. Setting aside the waste of time, which may belong to matters of importance, sooner or later they produce a disrelish for domestic duties, and an enervation, physical and mental, like the languorous sobriety of a toper. There is nothing nourishing to the immortal mind, in a ceaseless round of gaiety."
"How do you know, by personal experience?"
"Even so. I once drank pretty deeply of Pleasure's cup—did not drain it to the lees—but drew off the clear wine, and was beginning to taste the bitter, before I would let go. I was in Mr. Holmes' studio, yesterday, and missed your portraits. You have them?"
"I have."
"Are you pleased?"
"Entirely. I do not remember my father, but Mr. Read says the likeness is good. The other could not be improved."
"Mr. Holmes is a painter of exalted abilities, and an enthusiast in his art. I did not know him well until our passage at arms at Mr. Dana's, the day we dined there. We have been friends ever since. My sister writes that his portrait of myself is a solace in the loneliness of her sick chamber. She has the kindest of mothers and friends, but there are times when they are unavoidably absent, and she is childish enough to talk to the dumb semblance of one who is not worthy of her love, and imagine that it looks back its answers."
"Have you but one sister?"