_B_. A whirlwind! I don't know--that's hazardous. Nevertheless, if she were placed on a beetling cliff, overhanging the tempestuous ocean, lashing the rocks with its wild surge; of a sudden, after she has been permitted to finish her soliloquy, a white cloud rising rapidly and unnoticed--the sudden vacuum--the rush of mighty winds through the majestic and alpine scenery--the vortex gathering round her--first admiring the vast efforts of nature; then astonished; and, lastly, alarmed, as she finds herself compelled to perform involuntary gyrations, till at length she spins round like a well-whipped top, nearing the dangerous edge of the precipice. It is bold, and certainly quite novel--I think it will do. Portray her delicate little feet, peeping out, pointing downwards, the force of the elements raising her on her tip toes, now touching, now disdaining the earth. Her dress expanded wide like that of Herbele in her last and best pirouette-- round, round she goes--her white arms are tossed frantically in the air. Corinne never threw herself into more graceful attitudes. Now is seen her diminishing ankle--now the rounded symmetry--mustn't go too high up though--the wind increases--her distance from the edge of the precipice decreases--she has no breath left to shriek--no power to fall-- threatened to be ravished by the wild and powerful god of the elements-- she is discovered by the Honourable Augustus Bouverie, who has just finished his soliloquy upon another adjacent hill. He delights in her danger--before he rushes to her rescue, makes one pause for the purpose of admiration, and another for the purpose of adjusting his shirt collar. _A_. The devil he does! _B_. To be sure. The hero of a fashionable novel never loses caste. Whether in a storm, a whirlwind, up to his neck in the foaming ocean, or tumbling down a precipice, he is still the elegant and correct Honourable Augustus Bouverie. To punish you for your interruption, I have a great mind to make him take a pinch of snuff before he starts. Well--he flies to her assistance--is himself caught in the rushing vortex, which prevents him from getting nearer to the lady, and, despite of himself, takes to whirling in the opposite direction. They approach--they recede--she shrieks without being heard--holds out her arms for help--she would drop them in despair, but cannot, for they are twisted over her head by the tremendous force of the element. One moment they are near to each other, and the next they are separated; at one instant they are close to the abyss, and the waters below roar in delight of their anticipated victims, and in the next a favouring change of the vortex increases their distance from the danger--there they spin--and there you may leave them, and commence a new chapter. _A_. But is not all this naturally and physically impossible?