“O, spare me, Walton! Julia was a sentimental beauty, doating upon the moon, and stars, and charity children! On my soul, it is no unpleasant thing to stroll in the beautiful moonlight with a pretty, romantic girl leaning upon your arm, and to gaze down into her languishing eyes as they turn their brilliant orbs to the less brilliant stars. I tell you what, it is a taking way, and came pretty near taking me; for I was nearer popping the question to the sentimental, moon-struck, star-gazing Julia, than I love to think of now; see what I drew from her fair hand on our last moonlight ramble,” (showing a delicate glove.) “As for her friend Harriet, although not so handsome as Julia, she is a shrewd, sensible girl—told me, with all the sang-froid imaginable, that I was flirting a little too strongly—that she could not think of having me dangling after her, for two reasons—conclusive ones. First was, she did not like me; and, secondly, my professions were all feigned, for she knew me to be the greatest coquet extant—a character which, she added, with provoking coolness, she had no respect for!” “Good! A sensible girl, Frank!” said Walton, laughing. “Hang me if I did not begin to like her all the better after that,” continued Gadsby, “and had a great mind to pursue the game in earnest; but I found it would not pay the exertion. She is as poor as myself.” “What can you say of the sisters, Louise and Katrine Leslie, whom you followed as their shadow for more than six weeks?” pursued the indefatigable Walton. “The brunette and the blonde,” answered Gadsby. “Both charming girls. Louise, with those large, tender, black eyes—why, she melted one’s heart as though but a lump of wax; but, then, the roguish glances of Katrine’s sparkling gray ones! Well, well; a sensible fellow might be very happy with either. Fact is, they were jealous of each other—ha, ha, ha. If I wrote poetry to Louise, then Katrine pouted, and her little white dimpled shoulder turned very coldly upon me. So, I gave flowers to Katrine and pressed her dimpled hand; then the bewitching Louise cast her reproachful eyes upon me, and a sigh came floating to me on her rose-scented breath, at which I placed myself at her feet, and read the Sorrows of Evangeline in Search of her Lover, and begged for the ringlet on which a tear had fallen; then Katrine—but no matter; they were both very fond, poor things!” “In the words of the song, I suppose you might have sung, “‘How happy could I be with either, If the other charmer were away,’” exclaimed Walton. “Precisely. Have you finished your catechism?”