phine, my
adored remembrance of Don Quixote, Shakspeare, the Naiads, and the
mighty Napoleon, advance to greet your cousin!"

And this living remembrance of the immortal dead sprang from her stool,
and, running to Alice, threw both arms round her neck, and, kissing her
on either cheek, exclaimed, "O, Cousin Alice! I'm glad you are come, for
now I shall have some one good-natured enough to talk to and go to
school with every day; for, by your pretty, angel-face, I know you are a
sweet-tempered thing."

During this volubly-uttered harangue, the mother was making helpless
gestures to Thisbe for the nerve-reviver; but the graceless wench never
heeded one of them, so intently was she gazing with distended eyes and
gaping mouth on Miss Pheny's somewhat boisterous, but really
warm-hearted greeting of her Cousin Alice. Pheny was a universal
favorite among the servants, "for that she was a smilin', good-natured
young lady, and not a bit nervousy," as they declared.

At length poor Mrs. Camford uttered a faint cry, which called Thisbe's
attention back to the spot from whence it never should have
strayed,--her mistress' cushioned chair,--and she rushed in a sort of
frenzy for the nerve-reviver, and applied it to the trembling lady's
nostrils; whereupon that delicately-constituted specimen of the genus
feminine uttered a stentorian shriek and flounced about the room like an
irate porcupine, greatly to the terror of Alice, who had never witnessed
such a scene before. But neither the brilliant son nor jewel daughters
seemed in the least alarmed, and in a few moments the mother regained
possession of her chair and senses, when her first act of sanity was to
hurl the bottle Thisbe had applied to her nostrils at the poor woman's
head with such force, that, had she not dodged the missile, it must have
inflicted a severe contusion.

"There, you blundering black brute!" she exclaimed, "see if you'll bring
your master's hartshorn headache-dispenser again, when I send for my
nerve-reviver. The idea of a delicate woman like me having a bottle of
hartshorn bobbed under her nose! The wonder is I am not dead; yes, dead
by your hand, you brutal black nigger! But where was I in my
presentation? O, I recollect! That mad-cap girl, my second jewel, so
horrified me. I dare not yet refer to it lest my nerves become spasmodic
again. Pray excuse her, Miss Orville, and I will proceed to my youngest,
my infant-jewel! Eldora Adelaide Maria Suzette, gree