“Nature, Captain Whitmore, is not the best book for young ladies to study,” said Miss Dorothy, drawing herself up to her full height.  “If we were to act entirely from her suggestions, we should reduce ourselves to a level with the brutes.  Young ladies should never venture a remark until they have duly considered what they have to say.  They should know how to keep the organ of speech in due subjection.”

“And pray, Dolly, will you inform me at what age a lady should commence this laudable act of self-denial? for I am pretty certain that your first lesson is still to learn.”

Oh, how poor Aunt Dorothy flounced and flew, at this speech! how she let her tongue run on, without bit or bridle, while vindicating her injured honor from this foul aspersion, quite forgetting her own theory in the redundancy of her practice!  There never was, by her own account, such a discreet, amiable, well-spoken, benevolent, and virtuous gentlewoman!  And how the cruel Captain continued to laugh at, and quiz, and draw her out:  until Juliet, in order to cause a diversion in her aunt’s favor, pinched her favorite black cat’s ear.  But this stratagem only turned the whole torrent of the old maid’s wrath upon herself.

“How cruel you are, Miss Juliet!” she cried, snatching the ill-used darling to her bosom.  “You never think that these poor animals can feel ill-treatment as severely as yourself.  I despise young ladies who write poetry, and weep and whine over a novel, yet are destitute of the common feelings of humanity.”

“Puss will forgive me,” said Juliet, holding out her small white hand to the cat, which immediately left off rubbing herself against Aunt Dorothy’s velvet stomacher, to fawn upon the proffered peace-offering.

The old Captain, who had remained for some minutes in deep thought, now suddenly turned from the window, and said: 

“Juliet, would you like to visit London?”

“What, at this beautiful season of the year!” And Juliet left off caressing the cat, and regarded her father with surprise, not unmixed with curiosity.

“The flowers of the gay world, Julee, always blossom at the same time with those in the country; only the latter have always this advantage, that they are never out of season, and blossom for the day, instead of for the night.  But, my dear child, I think it necessary for you to go.  The change of scene and air will be very beneficial to your health, and tend to invigorate both your mind and body.  Now, don’t pout and shake your head, Juliet; I do most earnestly wish you to go.  The very best antidote to love is a visit to London.  You will see other men, you will learn to know your own power; and all these idle fancies will be forgotten.  Aunt Dorothy, what say you to the trip?”

“Oh, sir, I am always ready at the post of duty.  Juliet wants a little polishing—­she is horribly countryfied.  When shall we prepare for the journey?”