"
"Ah, you have remarked that too! Strange! It was but yesterday that I
was wandering through Kelvin Grove, and as the phantom breeze brought
down the withered foliage from the spray, I thought how probable it was
that they might ere long rustle over young and glowing hearts deposited
prematurely in the tomb!"
This, which struck me as a very passable imitation of Dickens's pathetic
writings, was a poser. In default of language, I looked Miss Sawley
straight in the face, and attempted a substitute for a sigh. I was
rewarded with a tender glance.
"Ah," said she, "I see you are a congenial spirit! How delightful,
and yet how rare, it is to meet with any one who thinks in unison with
yourself! Do you ever walk in the Necropolis, Mr. Dunshunner? It is my
favourite haunt of a morning. There we can wean ourselves, as it were,
from life, and beneath the melancholy yew and cypress, anticipate the
setting star. How often there have I seen the procession--the funeral of
some very, _very_ little child--"
"Selina, my love," said Mrs. Sawley, "have the kindness to ring for the
cookies."
I, as in duty bound, started up to save the fair enthusiast the trouble,
and was not sorry to observe my seat immediately occupied by a very
cadaverous gentleman, who was evidently jealous of the progress I was
rapidly making.
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