and worse every day--I wonder what in the world are become of all the good
flints there used to be!"

"Very unlike our mother, I am sure," continued Buckhurst. "There are
Georgiana and Bell at all the parties and concerts as regularly as any of
the professors, standing up in the midst of the singing men and women,
favouring the public in as fine a bravura style, and making as ugly faces
as the best of them. Do you remember the Italian's compliment to Miss
* * * * *?--I vish, miss, I had your _assurance_.'"

"Very good, ha!--very fair, faith!" said John. "Do you know what I've done
with my powder horn?"

"Not I--put it in the oven, may be, to dry," said Buckhurst. "But as I was
saying of my dear Caroline--_My_ Caroline! she is not mine yet."

"Very true," said John.

"Very true! Why, John, you are enough to provoke a saint!"

"I was agreeing with you, I thought," said John.

"But nothing is so provoking as always agreeing with one--and I can tell
you, Mr. Verytrue, that though Caroline Percy is not mine yet, I have
nevertheless a little suspicion, that, such even as I am, she might readily
be brought to love, honour, and obey me."

"I don't doubt it, for I never yet knew a woman that was not ready enough
to be married," quoth John. "But this is not the right ramrod, after all."