ub," a Southern
concoction of which my sober Scotch folks had never heard. Whoso takes
it may not look upon the wine when it is red, for its glow is muffled by
various other moral things; but the wine, waiting patiently at the
bottom, cometh at last unto its own; and the glow which was absent from
the cup may be soon detected upon the face of him who took it, beguiled
by the innocent foliage amidst which the historic serpent lurks.

Webster defines it as a dish of cream, flavoured with wine, and beaten
to a froth. But Webster was from Massachusetts and his advantages were
few. The cultured Southerner, more versed in luxury than language,
knoweth well that it is a dish of wine, flavoured with cream, and not
beaten at all since the foundation of the world.

Southerners incline to eulogy; and syllabubs insist upon it. Wherefore,
after the third syllabub had run the same course that its fathers had
run, Miss Sadie turned to me and said:

"That was a perfectly lovely sermon you preached to us this morning."

"You are very frank," quoth I, for I was unaccustomed to compliments,
one every six or seven years, and an extra thrown in at death, being the
limit of Scotch enthusiasm.

"Well," replied Miss Sadie, "I hope I am. I think it is sweet and lovely
to tell people if you like them. What's the use of waiting till they're
dead, before you say nice things about your friends? If folks love me,
or think me nice, I want them to tell me so while I'm alive."

"I love you and I think you are sweet and beautiful," said I, obedient.

Then came a dainty Southern cry--not the bold squeal of other girls, nor
the loud honking of those who mourn for girlhood gone--but the
woman-note which only the Southern girl commands in its perfection.

"Father! Do you hear what that preacher said to me just now?" she cried
archly. "Isn't it perfectly dreadful for him to say things like that to
a simple maiden like me? You awful man!"

"Our guest is only flesh and blood, Sadie," answered the courtly father
when his laughing ceased, "so I presume, like the rest of us, he thinks
you lovely. As for his telling you so, he was only carrying out your own
instructions."

"I don't see how you could have done anything else," laughed Mrs.
Vardell. "You shut him up to it, you know, Sadie. After your precept, to
have said nothing nice would have meant that there was nothing nice to
say."

"But seriously," resumed Miss Sadie, turning again to me, "that was