Fanaticism on any subject is, I believe, a mixture of passion and self-conceit; and he certainly was not without the former, as after events convinced me. To all these peculiar traits he added an insatiable curiosity, which he had no reserve in trying to gratify. During dinner he asked me at least a hundred impertinent questions about myself, my family, my object in visiting America, my profession, my age, my fortune--some put in the form of guesses, some with most straightforward impudence; and when, in the end, I told him I did not think myself called upon to gratify the unreasonable curiosity of every stranger as to my private affairs, he answered,-- "Waal, I guess you're right in that; but I should think you did not come over here without some particular business, and any citizen of this republic may just ask what that business is." Mr. Stringer and Bessy burst into a laugh, and Mrs. Stringer looked considerably annoyed. Laughter often does more than argument; and Mr. McGrubber was effectually silenced for the remainder of the evening. Indeed, shortly after the dessert was put upon the table, the worthy gentleman, who drank no wine and hated everybody that did, rose unceremoniously, and left the room; nor did he make his appearance again that night. I know few things more pleasant than when, with a feeling of security upon one, after a perilous and eventful day, we sit down with our fellow-adventurers to chat quietly over the various incidents which excited our feelings and stimulated, perhaps, many a passion at the time, but which have now all the calm of memory about them. Nothing could be more tranquil or charming than the two hours which now succeeded. We talked over all that had happened; we recalled not only events, but thoughts and feelings; and brief lapses would often occur in the conversation when (I know not what Bessy Davenport was doing) I was scrutinizing, though not too closely, certain sensations or emotions of my own heart, a little anxious to know what they all meant, yet unwilling to examine them too closely, lest I should stop them in their play. Once I asked myself if I was falling in love with Bessy Davenport--with her whom I did not know the morning before, and of whom I could not have said, that very morning, whether I liked or disliked her. But just then, waking out of a reverie of her own, she suddenly raised her eyes, quiet and thoughtful, but full of light, to my face, and I concluded that my question was a very foolish question indeed, which I would never put to my own heart again, but leave that inscrutable inner man to speak for himself when he thought proper. As our eyes met, a slight colour came up in her cheek, but she rose quietly, saying,-- "Now I will sing you one song, and then I will go to bed, only praying that I may not dream of being drowned all night. What shall it be, Cousin Richard?"