“For example,” continued Peter, delighted to have the floor and so select an audience, “that rather long girl, walking with a race-horse stride, is Miss Peytona Fashion. Her parent began his fortune by betting against his own horse. It would be deemed uncivil if you, Sir Comeguys, should stand before her, and with a whiff at her circumambient atmosphere of odours, should ask her if her favourite perfume was Jockey Club. “So there is hardly one subject that is not taboo with someone. Mrs. De Flournoy Budlong loves not to hear of flowery meads or breakfast called a meal--it seems to let the cat out the bag. Old Flirney, you know, began as a deck-hand on a barrel-barge, and has, turned to the wall in a lock-up in his garret, a portrait of himself shouldering a cask of flour; that portrait is her closet skeleton. “Ah, I see you have spotted the Southern belle,” added he to Ambient, who was gazing at a dark, luxurious beauty opposite him. “Spotted her!” echoed the youth, blushing pinkly. “I wouldn’t do it for the wowuld.” “Oh, I mean remarked her. You’ll learn the language by-and-by. You’re looking at her foot--that’s the pretty one; the other’s enlarged in the joint by dancing. Well, that is Miss Saccharissa Mellasys, the creole belle from Louisiana. You’re an abolitionist, I suppose?” “Yes,” said the Englishman: “isn’t evewyone who has no pecuniawy intewest in slavewy?” “Of course,” replied Peter, “more or less so. But beware of talking anti-slavery to Miss Mellasys. You’ll bring an unhandsome look into those tranquil eyes. She’s here on the proceeds of one of her half-sisters. Success of abolitionism would knock off her summer trips to civilisation, and she knows that her amiable papa wouldn’t hesitate to sell her, as he does the scions of his dusky brood, without too much inquiry as to the purpose.” “You call this a democratic republic, I believe,” said Granby. “’Tis the land of the free and the home of the brave!” cried Peter, waving his hat. “Pardon this ebullition of national pride. I’m getting up my enthusiasm for a presidential stumping tour this fall. Well, Saccharissa is very pretty. I’m told they cultivate that startled expression of the eyes at the South by placing the girls, when they’re infants, on the edge of a bayou; the alligators come and snap at them, but the nurse runs them off just in time.” “Will you allow me to make a note of that custom?” asked Ambient, who had listened open-mouthed. “Certainly,” assented Peter graciously, “and I can tell you more of the same sort, if you wish,” but the sound of the dinner-gong prevented further recitals. Tim Budlong appeared at dinner, all beauteous with raiment, but looking desperately roué. He had, too, the peculiarly anxious look of an amateur subscriber, so different from the cautious carelessness of the professional receiver of subscriptions.