THE MONK AND HIS SNUFF-BOX. 227 
“¢T should think,’ said the lady, ‘he is not likely.’ 
I blushed in my turn; but from what motivea, I leave 
to the few who feel to analyze. ‘Excuse me, madam,’ replied 
I, ‘1 treated him most unkindly, and from no provocations, 
“Tis impossible,’ said the lady. 
““My God? cried the monk, with a warmth of assevera- 
tion which seemed not to beling to him, ‘the fault was in 
me, and in the indiscretion of my zeal.’ 
“ The lady opposed it, and I joined with her in maintain- 
ing it was impossible, that a spirit so regulated as his could 
give offence to any. I knew not that contention could be 
rendered so sweet and pleasurable a thing to the nerves as I 
then felt it. We remained silent, without any sensation of 
that foolish pain which takes place when, in a circle, you look 
for ten minutes in one another’s faces without saying a word. 
“Whilst this lasted, the monk rubb’d his horn box upon 
HORN SNUFY-BOXES. 
the sleeve of his tunic; and as soon as it had acquired a 
little air of brightness by the friction, he made a luw bow 
and said, ’twas too late to say whether it was the weakness 
or goodness of our tempers which had involved us in this 
contest, but be it as it would, he begg’d we would exchange 
boxes. In saying this, he presented this to me with one, as 
he took mine from me in the other; and having kissed it, 
with a stream of good nature in his eyes, he put it into his 
bosom, and took his leave. I guard this box as I would the 
instrumental parts of my religion, to help my mind on to 
something better: in truth I seldom go abroad without it; 
