Aunt Gwen is sweeping a field-glass around, and emphasizing her
admiration of the picturesque scene with various phrases that would
immediately give her away as a Western Yankee.

Lady Ruth, with an admirer on each side, looks a trifle tired, or, it
may be, bored.

She may be planning some innocent little scheme, such as girls are wont
to indulge in when they have a superfluity of beaus, in order to extract
some amusement from the situation, even if it come under the head of
"cruelty to animals."

Philander Sharpe, with his hands under the tails of his long coat, and
his glasses pushed up on his forehead, is a study for a painter.

He was once a professor in a Western college, and with his smooth face,
hair reached up from his high forehead, standing collar, and general
dignified air, is no mean-looking figure, though dwarfed into
insignificance by the side of his spouse, the wonderful Aunt Gwen.

The conversation runs upon what lies there before them, and an animated
discussion arises as to the possibility of a foreign enemy ever being
able to successfully assault this second Gibraltar of the Mediterranean.

Of course, the young American is enthusiastic, and has unbounded faith
in the new White Squadron to accomplish anything, while, on the other
hand, the British officer, like most of his class, believes that John
Bull is invincible on land or wave. Of course, the young man from
Chicago disputes the point, and energetically contends that no nation