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TO THE MARQUIS DE MAZZINI,

As Bob tried to go to sleep his amazement that Jerry could be so two-faced, grew more and more pronounced. Jerry did not exhibit any of the symptoms of a person who was engaged in a treacherous plot, rather he seemed happy and buoyant over the accomplishment of something well worth while. Could he have been mistaken?,

Conversation may be divided into two classes—the familiar and the sentimental. It is the province of the familiar, to diffuse cheerfulness and ease—to open the heart of man to man, and to beam a temperate sunshine upon the mind.—Nature and art must conspire to render us susceptible of the charms, and to qualify us for the practice of the second class of conversation, here termed sentimental, and in which Madame de Menon particularly excelled. To good sense, lively feeling, and natural delicacy of taste, must be united an expansion of mind, and a refinement of thought, which is the result of high cultivation. To render this sort of conversation irresistibly attractive, a knowledge of the world is requisite, and that enchanting case, that elegance of manner, which is to be acquired only by frequenting the higher circles of polished life. In sentimental conversation, subjects interesting to the heart, and to the imagination, are brought forward; they are discussed in a kind of sportive way, with animation and refinement, and are never continued longer than politeness allows. Here fancy flourishes,—the sensibilities expand—and wit, guided by delicacy and embellished by taste—points to the heart.,

“You bet,” answered Bob. “I’ll never forget ’em.” For a moment he said nothing, letting his thoughts drift. Then—“But where is the job? You said it wasn’t here.”

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“All right?” called Bob to Jerry, who had been carried past him by the foam-flecked water.,

But Bob would not be frightened. He realized that the time had come when there could be no more fighting under cover. Throwing his head up and looking Jerry in the eyes he said quietly,,

The whole garden with its crooked old trees and newly planted young ones was overflowing with fruit: big and little pears, red apples, yellow apples, and oh! any quantity of plums—yellow plums bursting with ripeness, great juicy blue plums, and those sweet ones of a reddish purple color. Hurrah!,

During this exclamation, the emotions of Julia, who sat in her closet adjoining, can with difficulty be imagined. A door which opened into it from the apartment where this conversation was held, was only half closed. Agitated with the pleasure this declaration excited, she yet trembled with apprehension lest she should be discovered. She hardly dared to breathe, much less to move across the closet to the door, which opened upon the gallery, whence she might probably have escaped unnoticed, lest the sound of her step should betray her. Compelled, therefore, to remain where she was, she sat in a state of fearful distress, which no colour of language can paint.