"France'—The

    Moon

   , whose mild, steady and cheering rays are the delight of all nations, consoling them in darkness and making their dreariness beautiful."

   Doctor Franklin then arose, and, with his usual dignified simplicity, said:

   "George Washington'—The Joshua who commanded the Sun and Moon to stand still, and they obeyed him."

   I have a passion for fat women. If there is anything I hate in life, it is what dainty people call a

    spirituelle

   . Motion—rapid motion—a smart, quick, squirrel-like step, a pert, voluble tone—in short, a lively girl—is my exquisite horror! I would as lief have a

    diable petit

   dancing his infernal hornpipe on my cerebellum as to be in the room with one. I have tried before now to school myself into liking these parched peas of humanity. I have followed them with my eyes, and attended to their rattle till I was as crazy as a fly in a drum. I have danced with them, and romped with them in the country, and periled the salvation of my "white tights" by sitting near them at supper. I swear off from this moment. I do. I won't—no—hang me if ever I show another small, lively,

    spry

   woman a civility.

   Albina McLush is divine. She is like the description of the Persian beauty by Hafiz: "Her heart is full of passion and her eyes are full of sleep." She is the sister of Lurly McLush, my old college chum, who, as early as his sophomore year, was chosen president of the

    Dolce far niente

   Society—no member of which was ever known

   to be surprised at anything—(the college law of rising before breakfast excepted). Lurly introduced me to his sister one day, as he was lying upon a heap of turnips, leaning on his elbow with his head in his hand, in a green lane in the suburbs. He had driven over a stump, and been tossed out of his gig, and I came up just as he was wondering how in the D——l's name he got there! Albina sat quietly in the gig, and when I was presented, requested me, 

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