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“La! no, Mr. Warburton. Do tell me.”

“Why, because it is an emblem of love, which has neither beginning nor end.”

“And how will you make that out, Sir Oracle? ha! ha!”

“Why as plain as a pike-staff. True love has no beginning; for those who are to be married love each other before they meet. And it cannot have an end. So you see that a ring is the emblem of love.”

“That’s an odd notion; where did you pick it up?”

“I picked it up nowhere. It is a cherished opinion of my own, and I believe in it as firmly as some of the Jews of old did in the transmigration of souls.”

“You are a queer body.”

“Yes, I have got some queer notions; so people say: but I think I am right, and those who don’t agree with me, wrong. A mere difference of opinion, however. All things are matters of opinion. Aint it so, Perkins?” addressing the young man before alluded to.

“What were you talking about?”

“Why, I was just saying to Julia that all different ideas entertained by different persons, were differences of opinion merely.”

“Do you mean to say, that there is no such thing as truth, or error?”

“I do–in the abstract.”

“Then we differ, of course–and as it would be, according to your estimation, a mere difference of opinion, no argument on the subject would be in place here.”

“Of course not,” replied Warburton, rather coolly, and dropped the subject. Julia almost saw that Warburton had made himself appear foolish in the eyes of the dull, insipid Perkins–but her mental vision was closed up as firmly as ever, in a moment.

A loud burst of laughter from a group at the other end of the room, drew the attention of the company, who flocked to the scene of mirth, and soon all were chattering and laughing in a wild and incoherent manner, so loud as to attract the notice of persons in the street.

“Ha! he! he!” laughed a young lady, hysterically, sinking into a chair, with her handkerchief to her mouth–“what a droll body!”

“He-a, he-a, he-o-o-o,” more boisterously roared out a fun-loving chap, who knew more about good living than good manners. And so the laugh passed round. The cause of all this uproar, was a merry fellow, who had made a rabbit out of one of the girl’s handkerchiefs, and was springing it from his hand against the wall. He seemed to have a fair appreciation of the character of his associates for the evening; and though himself perfectly competent to behave well in the best society, chose to act the clown in this.

In due course, order was restored, more from the appearance of a waiter with nuts and raisins, than from an natural reaction.

“Name my apple, Mr. Perkins,”–(don’t smile, reader–it’s a true picture)–whispered a young lady to the young man sitting next her.

“It is named.”

“Name my apple, Mr. Collins,” said Julia, with a nod and a smile.

“It is named.”

“And mine, Mr. Collins”–“And mine, Mr. Warburton”–“And mine, Mr. Jones.”

The apples being eaten, the important business of counting seed came next in order.

“How many have you got, Julia?”

“Six.”

“She loves!”

“Who is it, Mr. Collins?” asked two or three voices.

“Mr. Warburton,” was the reply.

“I thought so, I thought so,–see how she blushes.”

And in fact the red blood was mounting fast to Julia’s face.

The incident escaped neither the eye of Warburton nor of Perkins. To go through the whole insipid scene would not interest any reader, and so we will omit it.

After the apples were eaten, “hull-gull,”–“nuts in my hand,” etc., were played, and then music was called for

“Miss Simmons, give us an air, if you please.”

“Indeed you must excuse me, I am out of practice.”

“No excuse can be taken. We all know that you can play, and we must hear you this evening.”

“I would willingly oblige the company, but I have not touched the piano for two months, and cannot play fit to be heard.”