“It is a good sign to find a girl sulky. I knew where the shoe pinched: it was that ’are Patty Bean business. So I went to work to persuade her that I had never had any notion after Patty, and, to prove it, I fell to running her down at a great rate. Sally could not help chiming in with me; and I rather guess Miss Patty suffered a few. I now not only got hold of her hand without opposition, but managed to slip my arm round her waist. But there was no satisfying me; so I must go to poking out my lips after a kiss. I guess I rued it. She fetched me a slap in the face that made me see stars, and my ears rung like a brass kettle for a quarter of an hour. I was forced to laugh at the joke, though out of the wrong side of my mouth, which gave my face something the look of a gridiron. The battle now began in the regular way. “‘Come, Sally, give me a kiss, and ha’ done with it now?’ “‘I won’t! so there, you’— “‘I’ll take it, whether or no.’ “‘Do it, if you dare!’ “And at it we went, rough and tumble. An odd destruction of starch now commenced; the bow of my cravat was squat up in half a shake. At the next bout, smash went shirt-collar; and at the same time some of the head-fastenings gave way, and down came Sally’s hair in a flood like a mill-dam let loose, carrying away half a dozen combs. One dig of Sally’s elbow, and my blooming ruffles wilted down to a dish-cloth. But she had no time to boast. Soon her neck-tackling began to shiver; it parted at the throat, and away came a lot of blue and white beads, scampering and running races every which way about the floor. “By the hookey, if Sally Jones is not real grit, there is no snakes. She fought fair, however, I must own, and neither tried to bite or scratch; and when she could fight no longer she yielded handsomely. Her arms fell down by her sides, her head back over her chair, her eyes closed, and there lay her plump little mouth, all in the air. Lord, did ye ever see a hawk pounce upon a young robin, or a bumble-bee upon a clover-top? I say nothing. “Consarn it, how a buss will crack of a still frosty night! Mrs. Jones was about half-way between asleep and awake. “‘There goes my yeast-bottle,’ says she to herself, ‘bust into twenty hundred pieces, and my bread is all dough again.’” * * * * * In “The Tour of Dr. Syntax,” Combe gives us the following amusing passages: _Squire._ This, Doctor Syntax, is my sister; Why, my good sir, you have not kissed her. _Syntax._ Do not suppose I’m such a brute As to disdain the sweet salute. _Squire._ And this, sir, is my loving wife, The joy and honor of my life. _Syntax._ A lovely lady to the view! And with your leave, I’ll kiss her too. ...