WE had landed at the foot of Pine street, which I followed directly up into the city. I was just about to cross Third street, when my attention was irresistibly attracted to a very beautiful girl of eighteen, who came walking down Third, on the lower side, and turned to cross and go up Pine street but a few feet in advance of me. I was just thinking how happy a man her husband would be, in case she should ever take it into her head to get one, when, as she reached the opposite corner, a man standing in the door of a periodical store near the corner, called to his dog, which had strayed across the street. The dog was a fine, large, sleek, spotted, good-natured, intelligent-looking fellow, dressed in a burnished brass collar. He wore a pleasant smile on his sagacious face, and looked as though he wouldn’t harm a flea that was biting him. With all the ready obedience of the faithful animal, he came bounding toward his master just as the young lady in question arrived opposite the door. It appeared that she had not observed the owner of the dog, or heard him call to his property; and seeing the animal come bouncing toward her, she naturally imagined that the sagacious creature was “going for” her—and how did she know but that he was afflicted with chronic hydrophobia? On the impulse of the moment, she uttered a musical scream, whirled around to rush back across Third street, and came in direct contact with me. It was so sudden, and unexpected, that the shock came near knocking me down under a cart-wheel as the heavy vehicle went jogging by, near the curbstone; and, to make the matter worse, she slipped on a bit of orange-rind, and we came near falling down together, all mixed up. To prevent this catastrophe, I instinctively clasped her waist in my encircling arms, while she, on the spur of the moment, threw her plump arms confidingly around my manly neck! And there we stood, at one of the most public street-corners of Saint Louis, unconsciously embracing, like two gentle lovers that hadn’t seen each other for a month of Sundays. [Illustration: “It was so sudden and unexpected.”—_Page 235._ ] “O!—O!—O-o-oo-oo!” she exclaimed; “excuse me! I was so afraid of that dog!” “He shall not hurt you,” I gallantly replied, as I released her from my protecting arms, and picked up my cane, which had fallen in the confusion. “I declare!” she said, blushing confusedly,—I have always thought this was because she perceived that I was young and handsome—“I might have pushed you over! I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” “O, no!” I replied warmly, wondering at the same time whether she meant she was _sorry_ she hadn’t pushed me over; “I was only anxious on _your_ account. I am happy that it was my privilege to save you from falling, when you slipped.” “Thank you; but it wouldn’t have hurt _me_. If _you_ had fallen, though—and you—you”—