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310 reason; when it is cold enough to make warmth pleasant, yet without freezing one side while the other is burning. It was just such a day as this when Lorraine went to take a farewell dinner with Mr. Morland. Alternate showers of rain-drops or rose-leaves had been blown in gusts against the windows all the morning; but now the curtains were drawn, a warm red blaze came from the bright fire, and a softer and clearer light from the lamp, whose pure pale transparency is so prettily and fancifully compared by an American writer* to a gigantic pearl illuminated. A mahogany table, like a dark mirror, was drawn close to the fire—Mr. Morland had an old-fashioned predilection for its polished surface; on it stood three or four rich cut-glass decanters, "breathing of the sweet South," and a dark slender bottle, common enough in shape, but round which lingered the fragrance of burgundy. Two large arm-chairs were drawn on each side the fire-place, in which sat Mr. Morland and his guest. Mr. Morland.—"After all, I do not so much regret the delay this occasions in your entrance into public life—you are still too young.