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His genius was a composition which is seldom to be met with, of the sublime and the agreeable. In his comparison between himself and Apollo, as the lover of Daphne, and in that between Amoret and Sacharissa, there is a finesse and delicacy of wit which the most elegant of our writers have never exceeded. Nor had Sarrazin or Voiture the art of praising more genteelly the ladies they admired.

And now, my young friends, in the year 1822, in which I write, and shall probably die, the love which glitters through Moore, and walks so ambitiously ambiguous through the verse of Byron; the love which you consider now so deep and so true; the love which tingles through the hearts of your young ladies, and sets you young gentlemen gazing on the evening star, all that love too will become unfamiliar or ridiculous to an after age; and the young aspirings and the moonlight dreams and the vague fiddle-de-dees which ye now think so touching and so sublime will go, my dear boys, where Cowley's Mistress and Waller's Sacharissa have gone before, go with the Sapphos and the Chloes, the elegant "charming fairs," and the chivalric "most beauteous princesses!"

Another unusual circumstance was engaging her attention, namely, that his rather remarkable physical perfection appeared to be matched by a breeding quite as faultless, and a sublimity of courage in the face of destruction itself, which Sacharissa lifted her gray eyes.

So she brought some blanks, passed them and a pencil down to him through the grille, and reseated herself. In Which the Telephone Continues Ringing When he had finished writing he sorted out some silver, and handed it and the yellow paper to Sacharissa. "It's dark in here. Would you mind reading it aloud to me to see if I've made it plain?" he asked.

"Unless you want to marry somebody pretty soon you'd better not risk it," said Destyn, gravely. "You you don't particularly care to marry anybody, just now, do you, dear?" asked Linda. "No," replied her sister, scornfully. There was a silence; Sacharissa, uneasy, bit her underlip and sat looking at the uncanny machine.

To combat it she rang for her maid, intending to go for a brisk walk, but the weight of the furs seemed to distress her. It was absurd. She threw them off and sat down in the library. A little while later her maid found her lying there, feet crossed, arms stretched backward to form a cradle for her head. "Are you ill, Miss Carr?" "No," said Sacharissa.

"Whom have I selected?" inquired the girl, whisking the handkerchief from her eyes. "What are you having a fit about, Linda?" And, looking at the page, she saw that she had marked her own name. "We must try it again," said Destyn, hastily. "That doesn't count. Tie her up, Linda." "But that wouldn't be fair," said Sacharissa, hesitating whether to take it seriously or laugh.

"We all promised, you know. I ought to abide by what I've done." "Don't be silly," said Linda, preparing the handkerchief and laying it across her sister's forehead. Sacharissa pushed it away. "I can't break my word, even to myself," she said, laughing. "I'm not afraid of that machine." "Do you mean to say you are willing to take silly chances?" asked Linda, uneasily.

And anything is better than working for Oddities that chirrup about work that they can't do, and waste what we bring home." "Who cares?" said Sacharissa. "I'm with you, for the fun of it. The Oddities would ball us to death, if they knew. Come home, and we'll begin."

Engagements will be superfluous; those two simply can't get away from each other." "If that were true," observed Sacharissa, "it would be most unpleasant. There would be no fun in it. However," she added, smiling, "I don't believe in your theory or your machine, William. It would take more than that combination to make me marry anybody." "Then we're not going to issue stock?" asked Linda.