“Pray proceed with what came of the lady,” interrupted the general, impatiently.

“Why, sir, she sang this song so sweetly that the very air seemed filled with melody, and I fancied myself either in Limerick or Paradise.  After gazing in admiration of her for several minutes, she turned her eyes toward me; and as she did so, ‘Heavens!’ says I, ‘there’s Linda Mortimor!’ And if you would know who this Linda Mortimor is, listen and I will tell you.  Her father was a merchant of New York, of princely fortune and good ancestry.  And this fortune, together with his pride, he was resolved never to let get beyond the narrow limits of a circle of distant but equally fortunate relatives.  But Linda, who was just budding into her seventeenth summer, let her affections fall upon an opera singer, a tenor of the name of Leon Benoni, who had some fame in his profession, and was likewise a man of good morals, which is rare with such gentlemen.  I had known Leon for many years, and between us there existed a strong friendship.  And as he returned Linda’s affections with a love so impassioned that he swore death only could separate them, I promised to render him such service as he might need in an emergency.  The possession of a girl so pure, so tender in years, and yet so beautiful, was a prize Leon would have braved death to gain.”

The general, more impatient than ever, again interrupted by enjoining Mr. Tickler to stick to Linda, and omit what Leon said.

“When you have two lovers in a story,” returned the critic, “you cannot well get along with what one said:  you must fetch them along together.”

“That may be your New York fashion,” interpolated the general; “but I know one Joe Doane, of Barnstable, who had a whole year of love stories in his head, and got along well enough with one lover to a story.”

These remarks somewhat displeased the secretary, who gave vent to his feelings in certain upward turns of his short nose.  In truth, he was well-nigh ending the love story on the spot; for he cursed in his heart the stupidity of a gentleman of such shallow tastes that he would only have one lover in so good a story.  But he bethought himself that now they were both high officials, he must show proper deference to his superior.  “If you would have love stories,” pursued the critic, with an air of regained pride, “pray take them in their natural state, and not as they are made by popular novelists, who get all sorts of murders into them.  As to this young couple, seeing that Heaven (which forms destinies,) had ordered their love to run one way, I arranged their interviews, and so managed the exchange of their communications that they had pledged their affections in eternal constancy for months before the affair reached the ears of Linda’s parents.  And when it did, a great excitement was got up against Leon, who was charged with various crimes against the dignity of the family; indeed, so far was their indignation carried that several ambitious members of the family threatened him with no few ounces of cold lead.  Opera singing was, at best, they said, but a shabby occupation, followed only by such trifling foreigners as had nothing else to do, and were wisely kept outside the pale of society.