_D_. "Rings?" Are they anything like the New-York Rings you have read
about?

_F_. Well, yes; no, not exactly; but a Ring within a Ring, is a phrase
that applies to both subjects, just now.

_D_. Oh, pshaw! I thought you meant finger-rings! What does Saturn want
of Rings?

_F_. And what does New-York want of 'em. They are _there_, and
there they'll stay!

_D_. But _I_ mean, what does a _gentleman_ want of rings?

_F_. Don't we find, every where, that the most Saturnine, the dullest,
and stupidest, and lowest, are generally the fondest of this sort of
ornament?

_D_. Oh, dear! Father, how you _do_ try me! (Do see him, gazing away,
when he _knows_ I'm dying to get a squint! He pays me no more attention
than though I was a mere ANTHONY! Why, what ails him?) Father! Father,
dear! what--what's the matter? Why are you crying?

_F_. Come here, and look; quick! Oh, HELENE; isn't it horrible?

_D_. Why--what is it, father? Console yourself; it is a good way off to
say the least! [Looks a moment.] Why, it's those savage Freedmen, I do
declare! about to sacrifice that amiable-looking white! A tender-looking
man; is he what they call a Ku--Ku--