oh!" And Flora sang the song, without accompaniment. The desired
sharp rung upon my ears, and set my nerves at rest.

"Bravo! Encore!" I cried, beneath the window, and was pelted with
peach-stones.

I wonder when this duet is to come off.

_Sept. 27th_. Have not stirred from the house. But I have not heard
any voice but Flora's. She has been uncommonly amiable and
fascinating, and I--am I not rather bewitched? I cannot keep my
resolution of not being flirted with. I cannot be wise, and reserved,
and indifferent. Am I trifling? Or am I in earnest? Indeed I don't
know. I only know I am constantly at the side of Little Handsome,
without knowing how I came there. She makes me sing with her, ride
with her, walk with her, at her will, and as if that was not enough
for one day, to test her power over me, to-night she made me dance
with her. And now I feel like a fool as I think of Etty playing a
waltz for us, at Flora's request, and giving me a long, serious look
as I approached the piano to compliment her playing. I could not utter
a word. I answered her gaze with one as sober, and more sad, and came
away to my room, to have some talk with my real self. Now for it.

Says I to Myself, "A truce to your upbraidings, you old scold; tell me
at once how you find yourself affected towards this charming little
Flora."

Says Myself, "There are no tastes in common between her and me."

Says I, quickly, "Music!" and triumphed a moment or two.

But the snarling old fellow asked whether I liked her singing, or her
flattery? For his part, he thought we both liked to hear our own
voices, and agreed in nothing else. Taste, indeed! when I would not
let her sing a song I cared a fillip for.

In short, my self-communion ended in some very sage resolutions. I
feared the beautiful head with the shining curls was somewhat
vacant. And the heart,--was that empty likewise? Or was that hidden
cell the home of all the loveliest affections, the firmest and purest
faith and motive, every thing that should be there to rule the
life--and--my picture on the wall? A question this.--Does she love me?
"O yes!" answered vanity. "O no!" said good sense, "not at all. If
your picture is in her heart, it is one of a whole gallery. Don't be
a fop. It is not your character. Don't let Flora make a fool of you."

And I resolved--

_Sept. 27th_. A very dull day. "You are as sober as a judge," said
Flora at breakfast. I caught Etty's eye,--but it said nothin