“Pray, whose is the spell that has brought such brilliancy to your eye?”
“Jean Paul’s.”
“Jean Paul’s!” echoed Catharine, disdainfully, “Only think of giving one’s best feelings to an author! Literally falling in love with a set of abstractions!”
“Falling in love!” returned Ada, laughing. “Who but you would have applied such a term to such a passionless recreation as reading? Ah, my poor Kate, you are far gone, indeed, and there is no method in your madness!”
“Well, don’t preach, but shut your book, and listen to me. I am very angry with you. Why were you not at Julia’s last night?”
“Why, because I was engaged to go and hear Mr. —— lecture on Shakspeare.”
“How absurd! These lecturers are a nuisance to society, and ought to be suppressed. I wonder the ghost of Shakspeare has not risen long ago, to beg that they will leave his ashes in peace.”
“He ought to be much obliged to them, for unfolding his beauties to the million who have a comprehension, but no perception of the beautiful, and are quite capable both of seeing and admiring, when they have been told what to see and admire.”
“You are very wise and eloquent, no doubt, Ada, but I am not able this morning to take part in a discussion on literary acumen,” said her lively friend, “I am here for something less profound, and more important, Julia’s soirée.”
“Well, what had you to offer, that could weigh in the balance with Mr. ——’s eloquence?”