The young ladies were charming; plenty of white gowns, plenty of flowers, plenty of smiles, blushes, tremors, hopes, and fears; little songs, little pieces, little addresses, to be sung, to be played, to be read, just as Tom Russell had foreshadowed, and proving to be-- "Just the least of a bore!" as he added after listening awhile; "don't you think so, Surrey ?" "Hush! don't talk." Tom stared; then followed his cousin's eye, fixed immovably upon one little spot on the platform.

"By Jove!" he cried, "what a beauty! As Father Dryden would say, 'this is the porcelain clay of humankind.' No wonder you look.

Who is she,--do you know ?" "No." "No! short, clear, and decisive.

Don't devour her, Will.

Remember the sermon I preached you an hour ago.