But on it went again, to our great surprise and mortification, till we gave it up in despair, and all wished ourselves at Jericho.

Norah, my dear! when we had crash-bang for forty minutes, with three stoppages by-the-way, what did they call it ?" "A symphony, papa," replied Norah.
"Yes, you darling old Goth, a symphony by the great Beethoven!" added Magdalen.

"How can you say you were not amused?
Have you forgotten the yellow-looking foreign woman, with the unpronounceable name?
Don't you remember the faces she made when she sang?
and the way she courtesied and courtesied, till she cheated the foolish people into crying encore?
Look here, mamma--look here, Miss Garth!" She snatched up an empty plate from the table, to represent a sheet of music, held it before her in the established concert-room position, and produced an imitation of the unfortunate singer's grimaces and courtesyings, so accurately and quaintly true to the original, that her father roared with laughter; and even the footman (who came in at that moment with the post-bag) rushed out of the room again, and committed the indecorum of echoing his master audibly on the other side of the door.
"Letters, papa.

I want the key," said Magdalen, passing from the imitation at the breakfast-table to the post-bag on the sideboard with the easy abruptness which characterized all her actions.
Mr.Vanstone searched his pockets and shook his head.

Though his youngest daughter might resemble him in nothing else, it was easy to see where Magdalen's unmethodical habits came from.
"I dare say I have left it in the library, along with my other keys," said Mr.Vanstone.