JULIET. (_aside._) Oh, you've got me up horridly!--that'll never do; let me down, pray let me down. ROMEO. There, breathe a vital spirit on thy lips, And call thee back, my soul, to life and love! JULIET. (_aside._) Pray put me down; you'll certainly throw me down if you don't set me on the ground directly. In the midst of "cruel cursed fate," his dagger fell out of his dress; I, embracing him tenderly, crammed it back again, because I knew I should want it at the end. ROMEO. Tear not our heart-strings thus! They crack! they break!--Juliet! Juliet! (_dies._) JULIET. (_to corpse._) Am I smothering you? CORPSE. (_to Juliet._) Not at all; could you be so kind, do you think, as to put my wig on again for me?--it has fallen off. JULIET. (_to corpse._) I'm afraid I can't, but I'll throw my muslin veil over it. You've broken the phial, haven't you? (_Corpse nodded._) JULIET. (_to corpse._) Where's your dagger? CORPSE. (_to Juliet._) 'Pon my soul, I don't know. _Sunday, 13th._ By half-past ten we were packed in what in this country is termed an _exclusive extra_, _i. e._ a stage-coach to ourselves, and progressing towards Washington. The coach was comfortable enough, and the country, for the first twelve or fifteen miles, owing to the abominable account I had heard of it from every body, disappointed me rather agreeably. It was by no means so dreary or desolate as I had been led to expect. There was considerable variety in its outline, and the quantity of cedar thickets scattered over it took away from the comfortless threadbare look of the wintry woods. Threadbare, indeed, the trees can scarce be called; for the leaves of the black oak, instead of falling as they fade, remain upon the branches, and give the trees more the effect of being lightning-struck, or accidentally blasted, than withered by the fair course of the seasons. I think the effect is more disagreeable than that of absolutely bare leafless boughs. When near, the trees look singularly deplorable and untidy, although at the distance, the red-brown of the faded oaks mingling with the bright, vivid, green cedars, and here and there a silver-barked buttonwood tree raising its white delicate branches from among them, produce a very agreeable and harmonious blending to the eye. The soil, the banks by the road-side, and broken ridges of ravines, and water-courses, attracted my attention by the variety and vividness of their colours; the brightest red and yellow, and then again pale green, and rich warm gravel-colour. I wished I had been a geologist. How much pleasure of reflection and contemplation is lost to the ignorant, whose outward sense wanders over the objects that surround it, deriving from them but half the delight that they give the wise and well-informed; even fancy is at fault, for fancy itself scarce devises images more strange, and beautiful, and