e, where they deemed themselves entrenched against the
assaults of sentimental petticoats, for a time, at least.

"Pray, Mr. Truck," inquired S.R.P., "is it commonly thought in the
English literary circles, that Byron was a developement of
Shakspeare, or Shakspeare a shadowing forth of Byron?"

"Both, marm," said the captain, with a coolness that would have done
credit to Aristabulus, for he had been fairly badgered into
impudence, profiting by the occasion to knock the ashes off his
cigar; "all incline to the first opinion, and most to the last."

"What finesse!" murmured one. "How delicate!" whispered a second. "A
dignified reserve!" ejaculated a third. "So English!" exclaimed
Florio.

"Do you think, Mr. Truck," asked D.O.V.E. "that the profane songs of
Little have more pathos than the sacred songs of Moore; or that the
sacred songs of Moore have more sentiment than the profane songs of
Little?"

"A good deal of both, marm, and something to spare. I think there is
little in one, and more in the other."

"Pray, sir," said J.R.P., "do you pronounce the name of Byron's lady-
love, Guy-kee-oh-_ly_, or, Gwy-ky-o-_lee_?"

"That depends on how the wind is. If on shore, I am apt to say 'oh-
lee;' and if off shore, 'oh-lie.'"

"That's capital!" cried Florio, in an extasy of admiration. "What man
in this country could have said as crack a thing as that?"

"Indeed it is very witty," added Miss Monthly--"what does it mean?"

"Mean! More than is seen or felt by common minds. Ah! the English are
truly a great nation!--How delightfully he smokes!"

"I think he is much the most interesting man we have had out here,"
observed Miss Annual, "since the last bust of Scott!"

"Ask him, dear D.O.V.E.," whispered Julietta, who was timid, from the
circumstance of never having published, "which he thinks the most
ecstatic feeling, hope or despair?"

The question was put by the more experienced lady, according to
request, though she first said, in a hurried tone, to her youthful
sister--"you can have felt but little, child, or you would know that
it is despair, as a matter of course."

The honest captain, however, did not treat the matter so lightly, for
he improved the opportunity to light a fresh cigar, throwing the
still smoking stump into Mrs. Legend's grate, through a lane of
literati, as he afterwards boasted, as coolly as he could have thrown
it overboard, under other circumstances. Luckily for his reputation
for sentim