is time, had a very different set of tastes from his father,
showing a turn for literature and sentiment in his youth, reading
Young's "Night Thoughts," and Thomson's "Seasons," and sometimes in
those early days writing verses himself to Celia or to Chloe, which
sounded just as fine to him as Effie and Minnie sound to young people
now, as Musidora, as Saccharissa, as Lesbia, as Helena, as Adah and
Zillah, have all sounded to young people in their time,--ashes of roses
as they are to us now, and as our endearing Scotch diminutives will be
to others by and by.

King David Withers, who got his royal prefix partly because he was rich,
and partly because he wrote hymns occasionally, when he grew too old
to write love-poems, married the famous beauty before mentioned, Miss
Judith Pride, and the race came up again in vigor. Their son, Jeremy,
took for his first wife a delicate, melancholic girl, who matured into a
sad-eyed woman, and bore him two children, Malachi and Silence.

When she died, he mourned for her bitterly almost a year, and then put
on a ruffled shirt and went across the river to tell his grief to Miss
Virginia Wild, there residing. This lady was said to have a few drops of
genuine aboriginal blood in her veins; and it is certain that her
cheek had a little of the russet tinge which a Seckel pear shows on its
warmest cheek when it blushes.--Love shuts itself up in sympathy like a
knife-blade in its handle, and opens as easily. All the rest followed in
due order according to Nature's kindly programme.

Captain Charles Hazard, of the ship Orient Pearl, fell desperately in
love with the daughter of this second wife, married her, and carried her
to India, where their first and only child was born, and received the
name of Myrtle, as fitting her cradle in the tropics. So her earliest
impressions,--it would not be exact to call them recollections,--besides
the smiles of her father and mother, were of dusky faces, of loose white
raiment, of waving fans, of breezes perfumed with the sweet exhalations
of sandal-wood, of gorgeous flowers and glowing fruit, of shady
verandas, of gliding palanquins, and all the languid luxury of the
South. The pestilence which has its natural home in India, but has
journeyed so far from its birth place in these later years, took her
father and mother away, suddenly, in the very freshness of their early
maturity. A relation of Myrtle's father, wife of another captain, was
returning to Amer