he
tears run down your cheeks. You catch the boy in your arms, toss him,
almost throttle him with kisses, and so enhance the merry spasms, that
mamma, who has a philosophical instinct with regard to excited nerves,
and dreads the reaction, comes to the rescue.

Let me introduce you to another effective laughter. You shall not hear
a sound, yet you cannot choose but laugh, if she does, quiet as she is
about it. See how her shoulders shake,--and look at her face! Every
feature is instinct with mirth; the color mounts to the roots of the
hair; the curls vibrate; the eyes sparkle through tears; the white
teeth glisten; the very nose and ears seem to take a part; like
Nourmahal, she "laughs all over," and while you wonder what the joke
may be, you are laughing too.

Do you feel dismal, or anxious? You should hear L. tell a story. She
is one of the very few who can undertake with impunity to talk and
laugh at the same time. Look and listen, while she describes some
comic occurrence. There is no unladylike, boisterous noise, but
musical peals of laughter come thick and fast; and faster and thicker,
preternaturally fast and thick, come the words with them. And yet each
word is distinct; you do not lose a syllable. And I should like to see
the man who can resist her, if she chooses he should laugh, even at
his own expense.

There is an odd sort of power, too, in the gravity with which B.
tells a humorous anecdote. He invariably maintains a sober face while
every body is in an agony of laughter around him. Just as it begins to
subside, the echo of his own wit comes back to him, and, as if he had
just caught the idea, he bursts into one little abrupt explosion, so
genuine, so full of heartiness, that it sets every body off upon a
fresh score.

Nothing so melts away reserve among strangers, nothing so quickly
develops the affinities in chance society, as laughter. A person might
be ever so polite, and even kind, and talk sentiment a whole day, and
it would not draw me so near to him as the mutual enjoyment of one
heartfelt laugh. It is a perfect bond of union; for the time being,
you have but one soul between you.

TO STEPHEN.

I saw thee only once, dear boy, and it may be, perchance,
That ne'er again on earth my eyes shall meet thy gentle glance;
Years have gone by since then, and thou no longer art the child,
With earnest eye, and frolic laugh, and look so clear and mild;
For thee, the smiles and tear