playing over its trap, its network of iron, and its
bright, silver plate. We pause and contemplate the massive walls, as the
thought flashes upon us--How mighty is vice, that it has got such a
mansion dedicated to its uses! Even stranger thoughts than these flit
through the mind as we hesitate, and touch the bell timidly. Now, we
have excited your curiosity, and shall not turn until we have shown you
what there is within.

We hear the bell faintly tinkle--now voices in loud conversation break
upon the ear--then all is silent. Our anxiety increases, and keeps
increasing, until a heavy footstep is heard advancing up the hall. Now
there is a whispering within--then a spring clicks, and a small square
panel opens and is filled with a broad fat face, with deep blue eyes and
a profusion of small brown curls, all framed in a frosty cap-border. It
is the old hostess, done up in her best book muslin, and so well
preserved.

"Gentlemen, or ain't ye gentlemen?" inquires the old hostess, in a low
voice. "This is a respectable house, I'd have you remember. Gentlemen
what ain't gentlemen don't git no show in this house--no they don't."
She looks curiously at us, and pauses for a reply. The display of a kid
glove and a few assuring words gain us admittance into the great hall,
where a scene of barbaric splendor excites curious emotions. "There
ain't nothin' but gentlemen gets into this house--they don't! and when
they are in they behaves like gentlemen," says the hostess, bowing
gracefully, and closing the door after us.

The time prints of sixty summers have furrowed the old hostess' brow,
and yet she seems not more than forty--is short of figure, and weighs
two hundred. Soft Persian carpets cover the floor, lounges, in carved
walnut and satin, stand along the sides; marble busts on pedestals, and
full-length figures of statesmen and warriors are interspersed at short
intervals; and the ceiling is frescoed in uncouth and fierce-looking
figures. Flowers hang from niches in the cornice; a marble group,
representing St. George and the dragon, stands at the foot of a broad
circular stairs; tall mirrors reflect and magnify each object, and over
all the gas from three chandeliers sheds a bewitching light. Such is the
gaudy scene that excites the fancy, but leaves our admiration unmoved.

"This is a castle, and a commonwealth, gentlemen. Cost me a deal of
money; might get ruined if gentlemen forgot how to conduct themselves.
Ladies lik