had been more than usually warm for several weeks, and the morning after Charlie's return to Longbridge, when the steamboat North America left the wharf at New-York, her decks and cabins were filled by some five or six hundred passengers. There were men, women, and children, of various characters, colours and conditions. The scene on deck was pleasing and cheerful; the day was lovely, the steamer looked neat and bright, and the great majority of the females were gaily dressed in their summer attire; most of the faces looked good-humoured, as if pleased to escape from the heat and confinement of the town, to cooler air, and a sight of the water and green woods. One might have supposed it a party of pleasure on a large scale; in fact, Americans seem always good-natured, and in a pleasant mood when in motion; such is their peculiar temperament. The passengers on board the North America soon began to collect in knots, family-groups, or parties of acquaintance; some chatting, some reading, some meditating. There was one difficulty, however, want of space to move about in, or want of seats for some of those who were stationary.

After the boat had fairly begun her trip, and people had settled themselves as well as they could, according to their different fancies, a pretty little woman appeared at the door of the ladies' cabin. In her light hair, and somewhat insipid face, encased in an extremely fashionable hat, we recognise Mrs. Hilson. Turning towards a gentleman who seemed waiting near the door for her, she addressed him.

"Now, Monsieur Bonnet, do exert your gallantry, and find me a seat on deck. The cabin is intolerably warm, I cannot stay here;—where are Emmeline and the Baron?"

"You see, Madame," he said, pointing towards the couple,
"Montbrun take a tabouret at once, when we come on board, and
Mademoiselle Emmeline now has it. It was very maladroit in me not
to keep one for you; I beg a t'ousand pardons."

{"tabouret" = a stool; "maladroit" = careless (French)}

"Haven't you got a seat; that is a pity. But I dare say you can easily find one."

"Vraiment, ma chere Madame EEL-sun, there is no sacrifice I would not make to procure you one. I am desole it should be impossible. I have been looking; but all the tabourets and chair are taken by ladies and gentlemans. You have a drole de maniere of travel in this countree; so many people together, the ladies must be victimes sometime."

{"Vraiment, ma chere…" = truly, my dear…; "drole de maniere" = funny way (French)}

"Oh, no; you don't know how to manage, that is all. Has not the
Baron a chair?"

"Non, Madame; you see he is debout."

{"debout" = standing (French)}

"Well, there are some gentlemen seated; I see three or four—one quite near you. Ask him for his chair."

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and looked bewildered.

"Pray, ask that gentleman for his chair," repeated the lady, pointing with her parasol to a person sitting at no great distance.

"But, Madame, the gentleman will not know what a charming lady wish for the chair—he will not give it."

"Oh, no danger; if you tell him it is for a lady, of course he will let you have it. Why, how slow you are about it; you are almost as bad as Captain Kockney, who never did anything when he was asked."

"Ah, Madame, de graces do not say that!—I go."

{"de graces" = please (French)}

And Monsieur Bonnet, edging his way here and there behind the ladies, and begging ten thousand pardons, at length reached the person Mrs. Hilson had pointed out to him.

"What did you say?" exclaimed this individual, looking up rather gruffly, at being addressed by an utter stranger.

"Mille pardons, Monsieur," continued Monsieur Bonnet; "a lady is very much oppressed with fatigue, and send me to beg you will be aimable to give her your chair."

{"mille pardons" = excuse me; "aimable" = obliging enough (French)}

"What is it?" repeated the man, who looked like an Englishman; "I don't understand you."

Monsieur Bonnet again urged his request, in terms still more civil. It would be rendering a very great service to the lady, he said.

"I am not acquainted with the lady; I advise you to look for an empty chair," replied the other, resolutely turning his face in an opposite direction.

Monsieur Bonnet shrugged his shoulders, and was moving towards Mrs. Hilson au desespoir, when a gentlemanly-looking man, who was seated, reading, not far from the Englishman, rose and quietly offered his bench for the use of the lady. Monsieur Bonnet was, of course, all gratitude, and returned enchante to Mrs. Hilson, who took the matter very quietly; while M. Bonnet seemed surprised at his own success.

{"au desespoir" = in despair; "enchante" = delighted (French)}

The gentleman who had given up his seat, was obliged to continue standing; shutting up his book, he began to look about him, among the crowd, for acquaintances. There was a very gay, noisy party, at no great distance, which first attracted his attention; it consisted of two pretty young women in the centre of a group of men. The shrill voice and rattling laugh of one lady, might be very distinctly heard across the deck; the other was leaning back listlessly in her chair: one of the young men was reading a paper with a sort of family expression, as if the ladies were his near connexions; and, on a chair, at the side of the silent lady, sat an old gentleman, with a very rusty coat, snuffy nose, and a red handkerchief spread on one knee, while on the other he held a pretty little boy, about two years old.

"I tell you I know she was dead in love with him!" cried the rattling young lady, at the top of her voice. Then, observing the gentleman, who was looking in that direction, she bowed with a coquettish graciousness. The bow was returned, but the gentleman did not seem very anxious to approach the party; when the young lady, beckoning with her finger, obliged him to draw near.

"Now, Mr. Ellsworth, you are just the man I wanted. Three of these gentlemen are against me; I have only one on my side, and I want you to help me to fight the battle."

"Must I enlist, Miss Taylor, before I know whether the cause is good or bad?"

"Oh, certainly, or else you are not worth a cent. But I'll tell you how the matter stands: you know Helen de Vaux and you were at the Springs, last summer, when she and Mr. Van Alstyne were there. Well, I say she was dead in love with him, though she did refuse him."

"Was she?" replied Mr. Ellsworth.

"Why, I know she was; it was as plain as a pike-staff to everybody who saw them together. And here, these good folks provoke me so; they say if she refused him she did not care for him; and here is my ridiculous brother-in-law, Mr. St. Leger, says I don't know anything about it; and my sister Adeline always thinks just as her husband does."

"That's quite right, my dear," said the rusty Mr. Hopkins, taking a pinch of snuff. "I hope you will follow her example one of these days."

"What are the precise symptoms of a young lady's being dead in love?" asked the quiet, business-looking Theodore St. Leger.

"Oh, you know well enough what I mean. You may say what you please about Helen de Vaux not caring for him, I know better," continued the young lady, in a voice that might be heard on the other side of the boat.

"As Miss de Vaux's mother is on board, suppose you refer the question to her," said Mr. Ellsworth, in a dry manner.