"Nay; Harry Vincent is the sonneteer. I verily believe that he has dedicated a little poem of fourteen lines to nearly every visible star in the heavens, and solemnly swears in the most mellifluous verses that none of them are half so bright as the eyes of the bewitching Imogen." "Let it be Harry Vincent, then, who is walking home and making his astronomical observations with a view to the disparagement of the stars, when brought in comparison with the optical orbs of his lady-love. We will suppose that he is gazing at yonder star which is now winking at us, as if it heard every word of our conversation. He would take but little heed to his footsteps while his gaze was fixed upon the star and his thoughts were wandering away to Imogen. As he exclaimed, 'Oh, Imogen! thine eyes exceed in brightness all the glittering gems that bespangle the garments of the glorious night,' he would tumble into the well." "Ha, ha, ha! Good-by, Harry." "Would he not rapidly descend?" "I should think that he would." "Would he stop falling when there was no bottom to the well?" "It is impossible to suppose that he would." "Then he would fall entirely through the well and would be falling upward when he issued from the other end, and our worthy antipodes, the tea-pickers, would open their eyes in amazement, and their pig-tails would stand erect when they beheld the handsome Harry Vincent falling upward, and heard him loudly exclaiming, 'Oh, Imogen!' and he would continue to fall upward until he was intercepted by the earth's satellite and became the guest of the man in the moon." "A most delightful abode for a romantic lover. But, as you do not believe in the attraction of gravitation, what have you to say about the attraction of love?" "The attraction of love? Another of your delusions, Thomas. Now, if you had ever seen my definition of love, in the dictionary which I have in manuscript, and intend to publish some day when Noah Webster shall have become obsolete, you would not talk of attraction in that connection." "What is your definition of love?" "Love is a state of hostility between two persons of opposite sexes." "Of hostility?" "Yes; in which each belligerent endeavors to subjugate the other, regardless of the sufferings inflicted." "This is as queer a paradox as that in relation to the possibility of a man falling upward." "No paradox at all, but a most obvious truth. There is Claribel Carrington, who looks like an innocent and enchanting little fairy." "She is superbly beautiful, and Clarence Hastings would barter his existence for a soft, kindly glance from her deep blue eye. They are in love with one another, that is evident."