Says Myself, “There are no tastes in common between her and me.”

Says I, quickly, “Music!” and triumphed a moment or two.

But the snarling old fellow asked whether I liked her singing, or her flattery?  For his part, he thought we both liked to hear our own voices, and agreed in nothing else.  Taste, indeed! when I would not let her sing a song I cared a fillip for.

In short, my self-communion ended in some very sage resolutions.  I feared the beautiful head with the shining curls was somewhat vacant.  And the heart,—­was that empty likewise?  Or was that hidden cell the home of all the loveliest affections, the firmest and purest faith and motive, every thing that should be there to rule the life—­and—­my picture on the wall?  A question this.—­Does she love me?  “O yes!” answered vanity.  “O no!” said good sense, “not at all.  If your picture is in her heart, it is one of a whole gallery.  Don’t be a fop.  It is not your character.  Don’t let Flora make a fool of you.”

And I resolved—­

Sept. 27th.  A very dull day.  “You are as sober as a judge,” said Flora at breakfast.  I caught Etty’s eye,—­but it said nothing.  Aunt Tabitha, who yesterday evidently thought me in desperate case, and once inquired about my income very significantly, now suspected a quarrel between Flora and me.  I was embarrassed, and overturned the cream.  “No great loss,” said Etty, seeing that I was chagrined.  “As easy made up as a lovers’ quarrel,” said Aunt Tabitha.  Silly old woman!  No, silly young fellow!  Flora has revenged herself on me as she meant to do, for defying her power.  She has turned my head; made me act like a simpleton.  But “Richard’s himself again,” and wiser than he was.

P.M.  I endeavored to talk more with Miss Etty, that the change in my manner might be less observed.  It was all natural that I should be as grave as a judge when I addressed myself to so quiet a member of society.  She seemed to divine my object, and sustained the dialogue; I never knew her to do it before.  It is not diffidence, it seems, that has been the cause of this reserve; I was the more diffident of the two, failing to express my thoughts well, from a hurry and uncertainty of mind which I am not often troubled withal.  It was partly astonishment, in truth, that confused me.  Little Ugly and I actually exchanging ideas!  I shall call her Little Ugly still, however, for I could not make her look at me as she spoke, nor answer my wit by a change of countenance.

Sept. 28th.  Little Handsome cannot be convinced that the flirtation is over,—­absolutely at an end.  She alternately rails at my capricious solemnity, and pretends to be grieved at it.  I can see that nothing but my avoidance of a tete-a-tete is my safety.  Should the sentimental tone prevail, and tears come into those beautiful eyes, I am a gone man.  At my earnest request, (I have grown humble or bold enough to ask a favor,) Miss Etty has