n the withered foliage from the spray, I thought how probable it was
that they might ere long rustle over young and glowing hearts deposited
prematurely in the tomb!"

This, which struck me as a very passable imitation of Dickens's pathetic
writings, was a poser. In default of language, I looked Miss Sawley
straight in the face, and attempted a substitute for a sigh. I was
rewarded with a tender glance.

"Ah," said she, "I see you are a congenial spirit! How delightful,
and yet how rare, it is to meet with any one who thinks in unison with
yourself! Do you ever walk in the Necropolis, Mr. Dunshunner? It is my
favourite haunt of a morning. There we can wean ourselves, as it were,
from life, and beneath the melancholy yew and cypress, anticipate the
setting star. How often there have I seen the procession--the funeral of
some very, _very_ little child--"

"Selina, my love," said Mrs. Sawley, "have the kindness to ring for the
cookies."

I, as in duty bound, started up to save the fair enthusiast the trouble,
and was not sorry to observe my seat immediately occupied by a very
cadaverous gentleman, who was evidently jealous of the progress I was
rapidly making. Sawley, with an air of great mystery, informed me that
this was a Mr. Dalgleish of Raxmathrapple, the representative of an
ancient Scottish family who claimed an important heritable office. The
name, I thought, was familiar to me, but there was something in the
appearance of Mr. Dalgleish which, notwithstanding the smiles of
Miss Selina, rendered a rivalship in that quarter utterly out of the
question.

I hate injustice, so let me do the honour in description to the Sawley
banquet. The tea-urn most literally corresponded to its name. The table
was decked out with divers platters, containing seed-cakes cut into
rhomboids, almond biscuits, and ratafia-drops. Also on the sideboard
there were two salvers, each of which contained a congregation of
glasses, filled with port and sherry. The former fluid, as I afterward
ascertained, was of the kind advertised as "curious," and proffered for
sale at the reasonable rate of sixteen shillings per dozen. The banquet,
on the whole, was rather peculiar than enticing; and, for the life of
me, I could not divest myself of the idea that the self-same viands had
figured, not long before, as funeral refreshments at a dirgie. No
such suspicion seemed to cross the mind of M'Alcohol, who hitherto had
remained uneasily surveying his n