"'Hast no philosophy in thee,' Charlton?" said Fleda laughing back at him.
"Has not Queechy--a--the honour of your approbation, Capt. Rossitur?" said the doctor.
"Certainly sir--I have no doubt of its being a very fine country."
"Only he has imbibed some doubts whether happiness be an indigenous crop," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly," said the doctor blandly,--"to one who has roamed over the plains of Mexico, Queechy must seem rather--a--rather flat place."
"If he could lose sight of the hills," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly, sir, undoubtedly," said the doctor; "they are a marked feature in the landscape, and do much to relieve--a--the charge of sameness."
"Luckily," said Mr. Olmney smiling, "happiness is not a thing of circumstance; it depends on a man's self."
"I used to think so," said Thorn;--"that is what I have always subscribed to; but I am afraid I could not live in this region and find it so long."
"What an evening!" said Fleda. "Queechy is doing its best to deserve our regards under this light. Mr. Olmney, did you ever notice the beautiful curve of the hills in that hollow where the sun sets?"