hen we have always a little sort of merry-making here.
But it would not do. He scorned to talk that palavering stuff which
she has been used to in the marble-covered books I told you of. He
told her, indeed, that it would be the happiness of his heart to
live with her; which I own I thought was as much as could be
expected of any man. But miss had no notion of marrying any one who
was only desirous of living with her. No, and forsooth, her lover
must declare himself ready to die for her, which honest Wilson was
not such a fool as to offer to do. In the afternoon, however, he got
a little into her favor by making out a rebus or two in the Lady's
Diary, and she condescended to say, she did not think Mr. Wilson had
been so good a scholar; but he soon spoiled all again. We had a
little dance in the evening. The young man, though he had not much
taste for those sort of gambols, yet thought he could foot it a
little in the old fashioned way. So he asked Betsy to be his
partner. But when he asked what dance they should call, miss drew up
her head, and in a strange gibberish, said she should dance nothing
but a _Menuet de la Cour_, and ordered him to call it. Wilson
stared, and honestly told her she must call it herself; for he could
neither spell nor pronounce such outlandish words, nor assist in
such an outlandish performance. I burst out a laughing, and told
him, I supposed it something like questions and commands; and if so,
that was much merrier than dancing. Seeing her partner standing
stock still, and not knowing how to get out of the scrape, the girl
began by herself, and fell to swimming, and sinking, and capering,
and flourishing, and posturing, for all the world just like the man
on the slack rope at our fair. But seeing Wilson standing like a
stuck pig, and we all laughing at her, she resolved to wreak her
malice upon him; so, with a look of rage and disdain, she advised
him to go down country bumpkin, with the dairy maid, who would make
a much fitter partner, as well as wife, for him, than she could do.

"'I am quite of your mind, miss,' said he, with more spirit than I
thought was in him; 'you may make a good partner for a dance, but
you would make a sad one to go through life with. I will take my
leave of you, miss, with this short story. I had lately a pretty
large concern in hay-jobbing, which took me to London. I waited a
good while in the Hay-market for my dealer, and, to pass away the
time, I stepped into a