Ingham and his wife have a habit of coming in to spend the evening with
us, unless we go there, or unless we both go to Haliburton's, or unless
there is something better to do elsewhere.
We talk, or we play besique, or Mrs. Haliburton sings, or we sit on the
stoup and hear the crickets sing; but when there is a new Trollope or
Thackeray,--alas, there will never be another new Thackeray!--all else
has always been set aside till we have read that aloud.
When I began the last sentence of the last Thackeray that ever was
written, Ingham jumped out of his seat, and cried,--
"There, I said I remembered this _Duval_, and you made fun of me. Go
on,--and I will tell you all about him, when you have done."