. Lewis's. This will be better than for me to attempt a description,
I think, and, on the whole, more satisfactory. He annoys me, and offends
me frequently; and then I am not just to him, of course. But he is a
fine fellow, honorable and agreeable; and with a love of natural science
that leads him, for the time, like a dog. Just now, he is wild with
floriculture. Last year, it was geology. You will see."

And then, as if he feared to trust himself with his cousin's character,
or that it was a distasteful subject for some reason, he turned to the
minister, and began talking about Cherry Mountain and the scenery in
Cooes.

Mr. Remington called out, at the top of the hill,--

"Now it is my turn! Let me ride, and I will give your character!"

"Oh! we don't need it, I assure you," said I; "we understand him
entirely."

"Not a bit of it!" said he, shaking his brown curls; "I am the
transparent one."

He stepped up on the wheel-hub to get his bag, and to say he should
strike off for Middleton on foot. He would see us very soon in New York,
and claim our promise to visit him.

Being relieved from the fascination of personal beauty and presence,
with only the impression of character remaining, I was a little ashamed
to find how much I had liked, without being at all able to esteem him.
It was with a very different feeling that I looked at Mr. Lewis, whose
ugly, positively ugly face was being perpetually transfigured with
emotion and variety. Without grace of feature or figure, he impressed
one as a living soul; and this inward light gave a translucent beauty
to the frail, chance-shapen vase, which all Mr. Remington's personal
advantages of form and color failed to impress us with. Only dark eyes
of un-sounded depth, and a voice whose rich cadences had an answering
rhythm in the inward man, showed what his attractions might be, or were,
to a woman. We became curious to see Mrs. Lewis, of whom we gained no
idea from his casual references to her.

* * * * *

LYRICS OF THE STREET.

VI.

PLAY.

From yon den of double-dealing,
With its Devil's host,
Come I, maddened out of healing:
All is lost!

So the false wine cannot blind me,
Nor the braggart toast;
But I know that Hell doth bind me:
All is lost!

Where the lavish gain attracts us,
And the easy cost,
While the damning dicer backs us,
All is lost!

B