I did not advert to the _if_, on which this whole reasoning rested, but I begged my mother would put herself out of the question for one moment, and consider to what injustice and intolerance such antipathies would lead in society. “Perhaps in general it might be so,” she said; “but in this particular instance she was persuaded she was right and _correct_; and after all, is there a human being living who is not influenced at first sight by countenance! Does not Lavater say that even a cockchafer and a dish of tea have a physiognomy?” I could not go quite so far as to admit the cockchafer’s physiognomy in our judgment of characters. “But then, ma’am,” concluded I, “before we can judge, before we can decide, we should see what is called the play of the countenance--we should see the working of the muscles. Now, for instance, when we have seen Mr. Montenero two or three times, when we have studied the muscles of his countenance--” “I! I study the muscles of the man’s countenance!” interrupted my mother, indignantly; “I never desire to see him or his muscles again! Jew, Turk, or _Mussulman_, let me hear no more about him. Seriously, my dear Harrington, this is the subject on which I wished to speak to you this morning, to warn you from forming this dangerous acquaintance. I dreamed last night--but I know you won’t listen to dreams; I have a _presentiment_--but you have no faith in _presentiments_: what shall I say to you?--Oh! my dear Harrington, I appeal to your own heart--your own feelings, your own conscience, must tell you all I at this moment foresee and dread. Oh! with your ardent, too ardent imagination--your susceptibility! Surely, surely, there is an absolute fatality in these things! At the very moment I was preparing to warn you, Mr. Montenero appears, and strengthens the dangerous impression. And after all the pains I took to prevent your ever meeting, is it not extraordinary that you should meet his daughter at the playhouse? Promise me, I conjure you,” cried she, turning and seizing both my hands, “promise me, my dear son, that you will see no more of this Jew and Jewess.” It was a promise I could not, would not make:--some morning visitors came in and relieved me. My mother’s imagination was as vivacious, but not as tenacious as my own. There was in her a feminine mobility, which, to my masculine strength of passion, and consequent tenacity of purpose, appeared often inconceivable, and sometimes provoking. In a few minutes her fancy turned to old china and new lace, and all the fears which had so possessed and agitated her mind subsided.