difference observed between these vines and the Vaccinium Oxycoccus described by Linnæus consisted in the"

"Good heavens !" whispered my aunt, "what shall I do? These good people have heard of nothing but cranberries since seven o'clock this morning-we must make him stop-do some of you tell me what to do!"

The reflection of a moment suggested an expedient. A card with this little bit of writing upon it, was sent by a servant to my uncle's end of the table

"DEAR MAJOR: Don't you think we had better Dot try to have general conversation? We really have great difficulty in hearing what you are saying at this end of the room. Affectionately, KATE.”

"Talk! talk-all of you," whispered Mrs. Kate, the instant my uncle paused in his harangue to look at the card. Don't let him get the floor again, or we shall never have an end of it."

Thus adjured, Bessie Wacklestead and I, who were on one side of my aunt, and Wittlepipes, and the pretty Miss McDudley, who were opposite to us on the other, buzzed away as fast as possible; while my clever relative gave directions long and loud to the servants, and rattled the plates together with great dexterity.

The object was accomplished by this magnificent coup. After one or two despairing looks, directed towards our corner of the apartment, my uncle resigned himself to fate, and bestowed his cranberries and his tediousness solely upon his immediate neighbors.

There, now," said my aunt, after she had helped to the chicken-pie-“ there is no use in you four people keeping up this constant and confidential intercourse any longer. All the danger has passed; and you will have time enough to flirt after dinner. So, I expect you to extend the conversation for my benefit. Just to think that I'm a poor married woman, that nobody likes to talk to!"

If you could have seen the arch look with which my aunt accompanied her words-if you had felt (as I did) those fair black eyes penetrating every fibre with their soft, magnetic influence, it would not have seemed very hard to stop the conversational coach, even at its best speed, to take up such a fascinating passenger. Not that I think a téte-àtete dinner can generally be improvedthat is, provided you get next the right person. But, bless you, such a third person as Aunt Kate is no hindrance at VOL. V.-20

all. She was a regular watering-place belle, and picked up in the course of her wanderings a vast deal of discretion and liberality-and now she's a married woman, and of course understands everything, and-in short, I can assure you, you would no more mind saying anything pleasant before her, than you would in the presence of a domestic cat.

"My dear aunt," said I, "has not experience taught you never to use the vulgar verb to flirt!' You remember what a set-down you gave the lady who asked if you polked ;—No, madam, I dance-was your reply. Depend upon it that those who polk are not more anxious that their performance receives the sanctification of dancing, than are those who flirt (if such people there be) desirous of making a compromise with conscience by selecting a suave and gentle word to express their infirmity."

"I can't say I exactly agree with you" -said Wittlepipes, withdrawing his eyes from the face of his companion, and adjusting himself for one of those outpourings of talk for which he was famous

"I do not agree with you in considering the indulgence you have mentioned as necessarily either an infirmity or transgression. It is very true that there have been few people so often held up to scorn, and so generally supposed to be very naughty, as those whose impulsive nature and ability of pleasing lead to that exercise of power known as 'flirting.' Those esteemed guilty of this folly are held up to virtuous indignation in all possible ways. They sustain the unwholesome drizzle of moral novels, and are pelted with those caustic little scraps that fill odd corners of family newspapers. Now I advance the doctrine that a flirtation, in itself, may be as innocent and harmless as a game of billiards, or an evening at the theatre. Like every other good thing, it may be greatly abused; but whether so natural and universal an enjoyment should be condemned from a few doubtful stories of broken hearts, is, I conceive, an open question. I am in the habit of taking a glass of port with my dinner, notwithstanding some people drink more than is good for them—I often play a game of whist, although many have been ruined by cards-and why, by a parity of reasoning, should those be utterly condemned who talk nonsense, and look lovingly in retired places, because matchmaking mammas and sensitive danghters, have occasionally been disappointed. L

should be the last to excuse a lady or gentleman who, merely as a trial of skill, endeavored to interest a person with whom they felt no sympathy. But I really have some charity for those who, bewitched by a bright eye and pleasant smile, say certain things that are not meant, or taken in sober earnest,--but which serve to dispel the distasteful business of the day, and charm the senses into a state of fairy ecstasy, which leaves us all the better when it has passed away. You may talk of the pleasures of courtship and the felicity of an avowed, respectable, commonplace engagement; but what is the satisfaction of making long and compelled visits, of being smiled upon by papas, and congratulated by brothers, to the delight of making your way in spite of these powerful coadjutors, and creating an agreeable little understanding, all the more tender because unacknowledged to the world. 'Mr. So-and-So is a flirt '—how often do we hear such a sentence repeated, as if it implied all that is mean and contemptible! Not so fast, I am tempted to say; my young friend So-and-So exercises a talent that you never possessed. Nature designed you for a place in au office or counting-room; you have a pretty knack at speculating, you can write, drive, or play chess, as well as any one-but you have neither the figure, quickness, nor wit, to make yourself popular with the ladies, so do not judge so hardly those who have, and use them. In short, I consider the faculty of flirting as much a native grace and individual endowment, as is an extraordinary ability for making money, a wonderful aptitude at getting rid of it, or any other natural gift. Let, then, such persons as are accused of this unfortunate practice be tried by their peers; and not by those whose dull and lymphatic natures can no more feel the temptation to pass an hour in a light and pleasant strife for admiration, than their stupidity would allow them to effect it, if they did."

"It must be acknowledged," observed my aunt, "that a great deal of the fun of flirting comes from its doubtful propriety. We don't know that there's anything exactly wrong in trying to be as charming as we can, but we feel an uncertainty about it, a wondering what people will think, and a half admiration at our own boldness, which gives an infinite relish to the business. What a pity it is that the consciousness of provoking scandal should ever be attended with

satisfaction; yet who cannot sympathize with the pork-loving gentleman who wished himself a Jew, that the enjoyment of his favorite dish might be heightened by the knowledge that he was sinning with every mouthful."

"I believe you are in the right, Madam," rejoined Wittlepipes, "just as firmly as I believe half this persecution proceeds from mere envy. There are but few of either sex who have the talent and address to make themselves really interesting, even for a single evening; and the world vents its spleen upon those who are more gifted than their neighbors just as the fairy tales always makes the brightest boy the most unpopular in the family."

Here, Miss Bessie and I came in strongly on the other side of the question. We endeavored to show that the judgment of the world was exceedingly correct, and that those people who did not exercise their ingenuity in such questionable pleasantries were prevented by a severe morality, rather than by any natural disability.

The argument was waxing rather hot and loud upon both sides, when Mr. Barnard, who sat just below Miss McDudley, turned and said-“What a pity that no one ever found out what Professor Phantillo's recipe for becoming irresistibly fascinating happened to be; we should then be competent judges in the case at least according to the opinion of friend Wittlepipes."

"As for the Professor," rejoined Madam Kate (she always prided herself on the cleverness of the trick, and consequently was glad enough to talk of it when occasion could be made)--" when I came to Bearbrook I had the curiosity to make some inquiries about him. It seems he is a sort of matrimonial agent, and really undertakes to provide people with partners at prices varying according to the style of article they demand. One of his circulars, containing a full tarit of charges, was left at the house the other day. I wonder what was done with it!"

"A tariff of charges!" cried Mr. Barnard, “come, come, this bringing matters, honestly and frankly, to the mercantile standard really pleases me! I can imagine the composition of such a document. First, in large letters down the page (omitting the small type between each sentence) we should find - Professor Phantillo- Distinguished Astrologer-Crowned Heads of Europe --Ladies' Attention--Partners Positively

Insured-Certificates From Clergymen of Various Denominations-One Price System -and then, in smaller letters, we should read the particulars :-For a first class young man, of good family and independent fortune, $30-ditto,

with moustache and yellow kids, $35. Fer a young gentleman with long hair, falling collars, and a talent for poetry, $12-ditto, when warranted his first love, $16. For an old gentleman of princely fortune,. . . . $50-ditto, when warranted to die in six months, $95. For a gay young buck, with a fascinating reputation for rakishness, $60ditto, when warranted to have broken several hearts, and to have passed six nights in the watch-house, $203 ”

....

"Stop, stop, you sarcastic creature,” interrupted my aunt, "no ladies should listen to so preposterous a libel; besides, let me tell yon, you set your wares very much too high. You will never find purchasers at such exorbitant rates."

"Oh, Madam," replied Mr. B., “you do me great injustice; these are only the choice patterns, designed for people of property, fashion, and taste. See, how I wou'd cater for the poor and vulgar, who, of course, must put up with a cheap and inferior article. Professor Plantillo has constantly on hand a good assortment of American poets-one of whom will be sent to any address on receipt of three postage stamps. N. B. A firstclass editor or historian may be had for siz stamps.”

"Why you miserable old cynic," exclaimed my aunt, giving her head the prettiest little toss imaginable, “you're as bad as the Potiphar Papers, I declare you are! But this is always the way with you literary gentleinen—you think it necessary to keep up your claim to consideration, by affecting to be far above the weaknesses of ordinary mortals."

No, no," said Mr. Barnard, speaking with some deliberation, for he saw that most at table had turned to listen to him,

heaven forbid that I should be responsible for any such creed as that. On the contrary, I am of opinion that a severe and just series of Magazine articles might be written, with Our Literary Society, for a title."

Oh, do write them, Mr. Barnard, and I'll promise to read them all, and to cut out your picture, when we get it as a frontispiece to Putnam, and have it neatly framed in black-walnut, and it shall always hang in my dressing-room."

"No-1 have never written for Maga zines, and hardly think I shall begin now; beside, I think it very doubtful if Mr. Putnam, or the editor of any other periodical, would choose to publish such papers. It would be hard to avoid the suspicion of personality, where the class under consideration are so generally known and conspicuous. And, indeed, one would be strongly tempted to draw upon individuals-think, for instance, what materials could be taken from Miss

's Sunday evening teas. The jealousy, toadyism, petty abuse, slander, and servility, that are on weekly exhibition in those two small parlors, would supply material for some very graphic bits of composition! What a recognizable character we should have in that femme precieuse, Miss A., who was so consumed with envy at the success of Mrs. B.'s novel, that she actually bribed (not indeed with money, but with certain social favors, the initiated can appreciate) one of her followers to write a savage notice of the same for the lowest of the evening papers. You have all heard the old story of the lion, who having devoted his youth to the practice of the fine arts, acquired through his masterly handling of animated nature, the repu tation of a very Landseer among the beasts. His great fame was, as you will remember, mainly based upon a copy (with slight alterations) of a wonderful picture possessed by some Timbuctoo Athenæuin, or Art-Union, representing a man in the act of conquering a lion. The emendation made in the subject (which was considered by the savans of the forest equal to the best guess of Mr. Collier's annotator) consisted in a very trifling change in the arrangement of the figures. By this "new reading," the conquering was just the other way--and the man, unarmed and helpless, lay at the mercy of the artist. If now I were required to write a new "moral "to this suggestive fable, it would read something like this: There have been recently published various articles from various pens, setting forth the lamentable condition of the fashionable society of American cities. The papas are all shown to be weak and covetous, the young ladies hopelessly silly, and the gentlemen inordinately dissipated. But let one of these waltzers turn chronicler-give him a note-book, and drift him gerly into the literary clique that exists in every Large city, and I will promise you revelations more startling, and weaknesses far more

humiliating, than the keenest observer can gather from the well-gleaned fields of wealth, fashion, and their quarry of frivolities."

As no one seemed disposed to dispute the justness of reflections that seemed To pleasant a compensation for the wrongs that satirists have inflicted upon Young America, a short pause in the conversational action followed Mr. Barnard's remarks. My uncle's observations again floated to our part of the table.

"The Swedish cranberry is not used as an article of consumption. It is, however, employed in boiling silver plate to its due degree of whitenes--the sharp acid corroding the superficial particles. of the copper alloy. And now I am prepared to answer your question concerning the best mode of keeping this delicious production. I have discovered two ways in which the cranberry may be preserved in perfection for several years. The first is by drying the fruit carefully in the sun, and then stopping it closely in bottles. The second, which I always recommend, and which will require a little illustration to describe, coneists"

Here, my aunt made a successful sortie of talk, and succeeded in spiking the enemy's guns.

But if you wish to know what she, or anybody else, said, you must consult some other member of the company, for the fact is, that I concluded the dinner in a subdued and confidential chat with my fair neighbor, Miss Wacklestead. And as the observations exchanged between the parties in question, though of great interest to themselves, cannot possibly concern the reader, we will hurry matters on, and the ladies off.

Well! when the last skirt had vanished through the folding-doors, and those huge portals had closed after the retreating beauties, my uncle invited us to draw our chairs to his end of the table. Then, according to annual custom, were produced certain bottles of that old Constantia wine, which some connection of our family had imported in the year 73. And a famous old vintage it israther sweet and syrupy by reason of age, but still of a flavor and fragrance that recall the best beams of the sunny days that ripened the parent grape.

At all events, its effect upon the company was benignant and genial. My uncle (having relieved his mind of its inter einst of cranberries) was very en

tertaining, and gave his version of the bull story with infinite humor. Mr. Bar nard favored us with his favorite song known as the "Cockroach at Home,' and we all roared out the chorus about the little cockroaches, who declare that they will not go to school without a double dose of lager-bier. Then there came some "imitations," by Wittlepipes, which were so exquisitely unlike the originals, as to be extremely ridiculous, After that, there was another song writ ten for the occasion, very personal, and very funny-so much so, indeed, that it will not do for me to tell who sang it, or give the slightest abstract of its contents. Then everybody began to talk, though there seemed to be nobody disposed to listen-if we except two or three elderly citizens, who had gone to sleep. At which period of the entertainment, it suddenly occurred to my uncle that it was time to join the ladies-as perhaps it was.

And here I propose to make another break in this narrative, for the purposes of meditation and preparation, before treating myself (and I trust, the reader) to a third and last chapter. Such pauses serve as opiates to the great agony of composition, and prepare the mind for a renewal of that earnest thought, and careful elaboration, which has hitherto characterized this history. But before closing, I may as well say, that several hours are supposed to elapse before the opening of the succeeding chapter. For it must treat of dancing-and I should show great ignorance of the natural laws, to expect the reader to take a mental part therein, after the dinner he has just finished.

So, while the servants are clearing the table, the gentlemen on the piazza talking over the ladies, and the ladies in the parlor talking over the gentlemen, we (that is to say, myself, and my beforementioned reader) will take a nap, call for a cigar, read the paper, or, in fine, amuse ourselves as we best may.

III.

I HAVE no great faith in practical jokes.

This making fun of the bewilderment and concern of a neighbor, is at the best a very questionable diversion. Still, if anybody is foolish enough to do it, there is no additional harm in conducting mat

ters after a methodical and approved fashion. And this may excuse me for giving two recipes for the successful obtaining of this pleasant excitementboth of which I have seen put into practice, and can conscientiously recommend. The first, which is rather limited in its application-requiring no less of scenery and preparation than is found at a masked ball at the Grand Opera House, at Paris-may be stated thus:

Take as the first ingredient, a verdant American youth (a Bostonian is always to be preferred), who has plenty of money, a limited understanding, and an overweening sense of his own and his family's importance-Then select half a dozen of the most intelligent ladies of your acquaintance, who are to be instructed to repeat certain sentences in the English tongue relating to family failings and eccentricities, which are supposed by the house of Somptueux (of which our friend is a promising scion), to be its own private property,-but which nevertheless are the talk of the town.

Now take your newly-arrived countryman to the theatre, circus, or some place of public amusement, and, finally, by the merest accident, propose to look in upon the masked ball at the opera. Herehaving previously arranged matters with confederates you make some excuse for leaving him a few minutes-and slip quietly into a private box near by, whence you may peep between the curtains and enjoy the fun. Mr. Somptueux has begun to be oppressed with a realization of his own unimportance, in the presence of so inany people of whose customs and language he knows almost nothing, and whom he of course presumes have precisely the same amount of information concerning him-when a gay little mask runs up and addresses him by his Christian name, and demands, haif in French and half in English, the particulars of that little affair with Anna Skeu-onai, and whether it was really true that one of the guests pocketed a miniature at her last party!

"How in the naine of wonder !"—ejaculates poor S, "can this French woman-but no!-of course she can'tsuch a peculiar name too!-what an extraordinary coincidence-I never would have believed it.

"Monsieur, if you please," says a timid little voice on the other side, "I would entender ze end of ze story about Annt Kottabos and ze confituriere. How

much was to pay, to say nothing of the naughty names she called!"

"Just heaven!" mutters poor Somptueux, staggering against the nearest box, "there can be no coincidence here. To think those unfortunate expressions that my poor Aunt Kottabos in a moment of justifiable indignation applied to the confectioner, and which were so handsomely paid for, that we felt sure nobody could have heard of them-to think that they should be the common talk of Paris."

The poor fellow has no time to prepare a reply, or to beg the lady not to mention it any further, before his arm is taken by another fair friend, who wishes to know how it was possible that Cousin Sophy could have caught Mr. Optimus after that scandalous flirtation with Herr Kewpidd of the Belgravian Musical Society. Another tells some little adventures after Grandmother Vinum's last dinner; while a fifth breathes a family secret most important and significantin short a disclosure that makes our moneyed aristocrat tremble for his gentility.

Well, the reader may imagine the course of horror, bewilderment, and blank dismay, to which our friend was treated he may also imagine (if he can) the satisfaction in assisting at the dispensation of such heroic practice.

And now for the second method of producing a salutary astonishment in the breast of a fellow creature-a method that was practised at Bearbrook with entire success, upon the occasion now under consideration.

Take a middle-aged or elderly gentleman of retired habits, refined tastes, and courtly manners-take, I say, some such pattern of a past school-and introduce him to a German. Of course you do not understand that the effect is to be produced by simply arming up some dweller by the Rhine, and repeating his name with that of the subject selected. A German in its fashionable and orthodox significance, means, not a man, but a dance a dance that the French call "the cotillon "-and which such Yankee gentleman as affect an exaggerated Parisianity, designate Lur Cotyeeyon. But, if (a contingency hardly to be imagined in an enlightened reader of Putnam) you should never have seen the diversion in question, and demand at my hands a description of the same, I shall really be puzzled what to say. The most contradictory epithets are constantly