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did ever produce;—the myrtles for the other culled in the valley of Vaucluse itself. Indeed they are not worthy of their high destination.

But from your fair hands, my Lady, is there either orator or poet who would not prize a garland of the simplest herbs?

Yes, saintfoin, buttercups, or any thing.

O, Mr. O'Honikin! could anyone but yourself, undervaluing your own excellence, have talked of this touching solemnity! O dear! what shall I say? My heart pants within me! Tears are forcing their way into my eyes! (Laying one hand on her breast affectedly, and the other on her eyes.)

Forced work, indeed, I believe.

She is really touched. This is very amiable, my dear cousin.

Assuredly, my Lord, she has a true feeling of the honours belonging to genius.