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O de nice question! de sweet affection! de dear sympathy! de pretty affection! What you wish me to say? I am no moder; I am no bud; but I have de tender heart.

So my sister knows Mr. Smitchenstault.

She know? O de incredible delight! (To Mary.) Do you know mine heart? de heart of one who feel all de sublime delicacies, all de pretty commotion, all de genteel ecstasies of de soul of one lover. (Ogling her absurdly.) Have mine eyes told you all?

Not entirely, my good Sir; for that would have been using your tongue exceedingly ill.

O no! no tongue, no tongue! all heart, true heart, devotioned heart. (Laying his hand on his breast.) It be all here trilly, trilly, like de strings of an instrument, de poor instrument dat you will play upon.

Not I, Mr. Smitchenstault; I want skill.

Let me teach vou den. O de sweet tuition: