Blackstone did not wholly absorb all my time that winter. I exercised my memory in the morning and indulged my imagination of an afternoon, breathing soft words to lovely Southern maidens, in the piney groves which surround that charming city. From time immemorial they had always given these on Valentine’s Eve a Valentine party. I was tempted to go to the one given that year. And as I entered the house a basketful of sealed envelopes was handed me, one of which I took; on breaking the seal, I found on the card the name of a brilliant, charming young woman, whom I then had a right to claim as my partner for the evening, but to whom I must bend the knee, and express interest and devotion to her in a species of poetical rhapsody. As all the young men were to go through the same ordeal, it was less embarrassing. From the time of entering the ball-room until the late hour at which supper was served, the guests in the crowded rooms were laughing over the sight of each young man dropping on one knee before his partner and presenting her with a bouquet of flowers, and in low and tender words pouring out his soul in poetry. When it came my turn, I secured a cushion and down I went, the young woman laughing immoderately; but I, not in the least perturbed, grasping my bouquet of flowers with one hand and placing my other hand over my heart, looking into the depths of her lovely eyes, addressed to her these words: “These flowers, dear lady, unto thee I bring, With hopes as timid as the dawning spring, Which oft repelled by many a chilling blast Still trusts its offerings may succeed at last. Receive thou, emblem of the rosy spring, Charmer of life, of every earthly thing, These flowers, which lovely as the tints of morn Yet ne’er can hope thy beauty to adorn. Oh, may they plead for one who never knew Perfection’s image till he met with you; Oh, may their fragrance to thy heart convey How much he would, but does not dare to say.”