seen— to say nothing, for the present, of papa
and mama— I have seen brother George come
in from business, and sit down by the fireside,
and be welcomed by Miss Violet and
Miss Rose (appropriately sweet names for
unspeakably sweet creatures) as if he had
just returned, after having been reported
dead, from the other end of the world. I
have seen those two devoted sisters skip
emulously across the room in fond contention
which should sit first on brother George's
knee. I have even seen both sit upon him
together, each taking a knee, when he has
been half-an-hour later than usual at the
office. I have never beheld their lovely
arms tired of clasping brother George's
neck, never heard their rosy lips cease kissing
brother George's cheeks, except when
they were otherwise occupied for the
moment in calling him "Dear!" On the word
of honour of a harmless spinster-fancying old
man, I declare that I have seen brother George
fondled to such an extent by his sisters that,
although a lusty and long-suffering youth, he
has fallen asleep under it from sheer exhaustion.
Even then I have observed Miss Rose
and Miss Violet contending (in each other's
arms) for which should have the privilege of
casting her handkerchief over his face. And
that graceful strife concluded, I have quitted
the house at a late hour, leaving Violet on
papa's bosom, and Rose entwined round
mamma's waist. Is there not something to
fill the eyes with tears, gentlemen, in the
contemplation of such scenes as these?
Something to pull appealingly at our heartstrings,
and not by any means to let go of them
again in a hurry?

Am I exaggerating? Go, and judge for
yourselves, my bachelor friends. Go, if you
like, and meet my domestic lot at a ball.

My bachelor is introduced to Miss Violet,
and takes his place with her in a quadrille.
He begins a lively conversation, and finds
her attention wandering. She has not heard
a word that he has been saying, and she
interrupts him in the middle of a sentence with
a question which has not the slightest relation
to anything that he has hitherto offered
by way of a remark.

"Have you ever met my sister Rose
before?"

"No, I have not had the honour—"

"She is standing there, at the other end,
in a blue dress. Now, do tell me, does she
not look charming?"

My bachelor makes the necessary answer,
and goes on to another subject. Miss Violet's
attention wanders again, and she asks
another abrupt question.

"What did you think of mamma, when
you were introduced to her?"

My bachelor friend makes another necessary
answer. Miss Violet, without appearing
to be much impressed by it, looks into
the distance in search of her maternal parent,
and then addresses her partner again:

"It is not a pleasant thing for young
people to confess," she says, with the most
artless candour, "but I really do think that
mamma is the handsomest woman in the
room. There she is, taking an ice, next to
the old lady with the diamonds. Is she not
beautiful? Do you know, when we were
dressing to-night, Rose and I begged and
prayed her not to wear a cap. We said,
'Don't, mamma; please don't. Put it off
for another year.' And mamma said, in her
sweet way. 'Nonsense, my loves! I am an
old woman. You must accustom yourselves
to that idea, and you must let me wear a cap;
you must, darlings, indeed.' And we said—
what do you think we said?"

(Another necessary answer.)

"We said, 'There is papa. (He was
knocking at the door to know if we were
ready, just at that moment). You are
studying papa's feelings — you are afraid,
dear, of being taken for our youngest sister
if you go in your hair, — and it is on papa's
account that you wear a cap. Sly mamma!'
— Have you been introduced to papa?"

Later in the evening my bachelor friend is
presented to Miss Rose. He asks for the
honour of dancing with her. She inquires if
it is for the waltz, and hearing that it is,
draws back and curtseys apologetically,

"Thank you, I must keep the waltz for my
brother George. My sister and I always
keep waltzes for our brother George."

My bachelor draws back. The dance
proceeds. He hears a soft voice behind him.
It is Miss Violet who is speaking.

"You are a judge of waltzing?" she says,
in tones of the gentlest insinuation. "Do
pray look at George and Rose. No, thank
you: I never dance when George and Rose
are waltzing. It is a much greater treat to
me to look on. I always look on. I do,
indeed."

Perhaps my bachelor does not frequent
balls, it is of no consequence. Let him be
a diner-out; let him meet my domestic lot
at the social board; and he will only witness
fresh instances of that all-absorbing interest
in each other, which is the praiseworthy and
remarkable peculiarity of the whole Ducksey
family, and of the young ladies in particular.
He will find them admiring one another
with the same touching and demonstrative
affection over the dishes on the dinner-table,
as amid the mazes of the dance. He
will hear from the venerable Mr. Ducksey
that George never gave him a moment's
uneasiness from the hour of his birth. He will
hear from Mrs. Ducksey that her one regret
in this life is, that she can never be thankful
enough for her daughters. And, furthermore
(to return to the young ladies, who are the
main objects of these remarks), he will find,
by some such fragments of dialogue as the
following, that no general subjects of
conversation whatever, have the power of
alluring the minds of the two Miss Duckseys