It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Beauty has bloomed and faded.
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