"The vision and the faculty divine,"

glanced a little uneasily at the ever-tw.a.n.ging guitar as she politely a.s.sented to the requests that eagerly seconded that of her hostess. Mr.

Smith still continued to hum broken s.n.a.t.c.hes of an air, twisting the screws of his instrument with complete self-engrossment, the while.

"I will not interrupt Mr. Smith," said the lady, in more expressive tones than were ever elicited from catgut by the efforts of that gentleman, moving with a step graceful as that of a gazelle to the other end of the room.

Our little circle gathered about her, and enjoyed, in an exquisite degree,

"The feast of reason, and the flow of soul,"

that so far surpa.s.ses the merely sensuous pleasure afforded by music, when not a.s.sociated with exalted sentiment.

As the company broke into little groups, after thanking Mrs. Williams for the high gratification for which we were her debtors, I overheard Mr. Smith say, with a discontented air, to a youth with a "_lovely moustache_," who had "accompanied" him in his previous musical endeavors, "I'll never bring my instrument _here_ again!"

At this critical moment, our hostess approached with a water-ice, as a propitiatory offering, and expressed the hope that the guitar was now renewed for action. The musician, with offended dignity, only condescended to reply, as he deposited his idol in a corner--

"Thank you, ma'am; I supposed your friends were _fond of music_!"

Discussing the mooted subject of _beards_ one morning lately, with some sprightly young ladies of my acquaintance, the following specimen of quickness of repartee was elicited. I record it for your amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Among the ancients, I believe," said a fair girl, "a long, snowy beard was considered an emblem of the wisdom of the possessor."

"And how is it in modern times?" inquired another lady, "does wisdom keep pace, in exact proportion with length of beard?"

"No, indeed," exclaimed the first speaker, laughingly, "for,

"If beards long and bushy true wisdom denote, Then Plato must bow to a hairy he-goat!"

What would an educated foreigner--Kossuth, for instance, who learned English _by the study of Shakspeare_--make of the following specimens of colloquial American language?

"Do tell, Jul," exclaimed a young lady, "where _have_ you been marvelling to? You look like Time in the primer!"

"No you don't," returned the young lady addressed, "you can't come it over dis chil'!"

"No, no," chimed in a youth of the party, "you can't come it quite, Miss Lib! Don't try to poke fun at us!"

"You've all been _sparking_ in the woods, I guess!"

"Oh, ho," laughed one of the speakers, "I thought you'd get it through your hair, at last--that's rich!"

"Why!" retorted the interlocutor, tartly, "do you think I don't know tother from which?"

"I think you 'know beans' as well as most Hoosiers," replied her particular admirer, in a tone of unmistakable blandishment.

"Everybody knows Jul's _some pumpkins_," admitted one of her fair companions.

"Come, Jul, rig yourself in a jiffy," said a bonny la.s.sie, who had not yet spoken, "you are in for a spree!"

"What's in the wind--who's to stand the shot?" cautiously inquired the damsel addressed.

"We're bound on a spree, I tell you! You must be _green_ to think we'll own the corn now! Come, fix up, immediately, if not sooner!" so saying, the energetic speaker seized her friend round the waist and gallopaded her out of the room.

Presently some one said, "Well, Jul and Lotty have made themselves scarce!--I----by George, it makes a fellow open his potato-trap to hang around waitin' so," and an expansive yawn attested the sincerity of this declaration.

"I could scare up my traps a heap sight quicker, I reckon, and tote 'em too, from here to the river, n.i.g.g.e.r fashion," rejoined a Southerner, of the group.

"Some chicken fixins and pie doins wouldn't be so bad--would they, though?" whispered a tall, Western man to his next neighbor.

"And a little suthin to wet your whistle, too," added another, overhearing the remark--"you're a trump, anyhow!"

"Then you do _kill a snake_, sometimes, Mr. Smith," inquired one of his auditors, smiling significantly.

"Does your anxious mother know you're out?" retorted Mr. Smith, twirling his fingers on his nose.

"Don't be wrathy, Smith--what's your tipple, old fellow?" put in one of the young men, soothingly stroking the broad shoulders of that interesting youth.

"You're E Pluribus--you're a brick," returned Mr. Smith, softening, "but where in thunder are those female women? They'ave sloped and given us the mitten, I spose"----

"You ain't posted up, my boy, if you think they'd given us the slip,"

answered his friend.

"By jingo! it takes the patience of all the world and the rest of mankind to dance attendance upon them--they ain't as peart as our _gals o' wind_!" cried Mr. Smith, in an ecstasy of impatience.

"How's your ma, Mr. John Smith?" inquired the merry voice of "Jul," who had entered unperceived, "you'd better dry up!"

"Here we are, let's be off," shouted a young gentleman.

"All aboard," echoed another.

"Now we'll go it with a rush!" burst from a third, and, suiting the action to the word, my _dramatis personae_ vanished like the wind.

Having the happiness to pa.s.s a morning at the _Louvre_ with my early and lamented friend, Washington Allston, he said to me, as arm in arm we sauntered slowly through one of the Galleries--"Come and study one of my particular favorites with me--one might as well attempt to taste all the nondescript dishes at a Chinese state-dinner as to enjoy every picture in a collection, at a single visit. I do not even glance at more than one or two, unless I know that I shall have months before me for renewing my inspection--better take away one distinct recollection, to add to one's _private collection_, than half a dozen confused, imperfect copies!"

I think it was a _Murillo_ before which the artist paused while speaking; the celebrated work representing a monk, who had been interrupted by death while writing his own biography, as being permitted to return to earth to complete his self-imposed task. I am not sure but this picture, however, was added some years later to the treasures of the Louvre, by Napoleon--for we were both young men then--however, it matters not. I was quite as much occupied in observing the _living picture_ before me, as that of the great master. And, though memory has proved somewhat treacherous, I still vividly recollect the spiritualized face of this true child of genius, as he contemplated the magnificent impersonation. His brow grew radiant, and his eye! ah, who shall portray that soul-lit eye, or justly record the poetic language that fell, almost unconsciously, from his half-inspired lips! Sacredly are they cherished among the h.o.a.rded memories of youthful friendship? It was only my purpose to recall for your benefit the opinion and practice of one so fully competent to advise in relation to our subject.

What Disraeli has somewhere said of eating, may, with equal nicety of epicureanism, be applied to the enjoyment of Ideal Art, and of that of which it is the type--natural beauty:--"To eat, really to eat," a.s.serts the discriminatingly sensuous Jew, "one should eat alone, in an easy dress, by a soft light, and of a single dish at a time!" For myself--but there's no accounting for tastes!--I should desire on all such occasions,

"One fair spirit for my minister,"

or rather, for my sympathizing companion!