"I am happy, I know, and I don't care whether you think me sentimental or not."
"Well, I wish you joy anyhow. Let us make a night of it. 'It is our royal pleasure to be'—imagine the rest of the line. 'Now is the winter of our discontent.' 'My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne.' Come, let us make ready, and we'll talk till
"'Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty'—
misty steeple of Park-Street Church,—since we haven't any misty mountaintops in the neighborhood."
"One would think you the happy man."
"I am; your enthusiasm is so contagious that I am back in my twenties again."
"Why do you take your pleasure vicariously? There is Mrs. Sandford, the charming woman; I love her, because"—
"No, Sir, not her,—one is enough."
"Then why not love her yourself? We'll make a double-barrelled shot of it,—two couples brought down by one parson."
"Very ingenious, and economical, too; but I think not. It is too late. I was brought up in the country, and I don't think it good policy to begin agricultural operations in the fall of the year; my spring has past. But is the day fixed? When are you to be the truly happy man?"