Oswald.—Why, Amelia, your kindness surprises me. You know I have already a Christmas gift; the beautiful writing case that my father bought for me yesterday. I cannot take your Souvenir. Amelia.—Dear Oswald, for once allow me to make you a present. It is the first time in my life I have had it in my power to offer you any thing of consequence. I shall be so happy, if you accept it—There it is, (laying the Souvenir on Oswald's knee.)
Oswald.—But, Amelia, how can you part so soon with your beautiful Souvenir? You were so delighted with it last evening.
Amelia.—I know every thing in it—I examined all the plates with the greatest attention, and I read it through before I went to bed.
Oswald.—(smiling.)—Well, Amelia, though you are so generous as to make me the owner of the Souvenir, you know it will still remain in the house. I will put it carefully away in my little book case, and whenever you wish to look at it, just tell me so, and you shall have it at any time.
Amelia.—(looking disappointed.)—But, Oswald, are you going to keep it always?
Oswald.—Always, as the gift of my loving sister.
Amelia.—But I do not insist on your keeping it for ever, dear Oswald. You may give it away again—I shall not be the least offended if you give it away, provided you bestow it properly. Indeed, I would rather you should give it away than not—and as soon as possible, too—this very day, if you choose.
Oswald.—Surely, Amelia, you have a very strange way of making a present; desiring it to be given away again immediately.
Amelia.—Why, Oswald, you know you do not draw.
Oswald.—No, indeed, to my great regret.