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Rh had never thought of her roses and ringlets with more satisfaction than just now. Some authors, in discussing love's divers places of vantage ground, are eloquent in praise of a dinner-table—others eulogise supper: for my part I lean to the breakfast,—the complexion and the feelings are alike fresh—the cares, business, and sorrows of the day, have not yet merged in prudence and fatigue—the imaginativeness of the morning dream is yet floating on the mind—the courtesies of coffee and chocolate are more familiar than those of soup and fish. As they say in education, nothing like an early commencement—our first impressions are always most vivid, and the simplicity of the morning gives an idea of nature piquant from probable contrast. Perhaps one's rule of three for action might run thus: be naïve at breakfast, brilliant at dinner, but romantic at supper. The visions prepared for midnight should always be a little exalted: but if only one meal be at your choice, prefer the breakfast. Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coúte, is as true of sentiments as saints.