he says), and
begs her visitor will be seated.

Mr. Soloman, having paced twice or thrice up and down the little room,
contemplating himself in the glass at each turn, now touching his
neatly-trimmed Saxon mustache and whiskers, then frisking his fingers
through his candy-colored hair, brings his dignity into the chair.

"I said it was all up with the St. Cecilia--"

"Yes!" interrupts Mrs. Swiggs, her eyes glistening like balls of fire,
her lower jaw falling with the weight of anxiety, and fretting rapidly
her bony hands.

Soloman suddenly pauses, says that was a glorious bottle of old Madeira
with which he enjoyed her hospitality on his last visit. The flavor of
it is yet fresh in his mouth.

"Thank you--thank you! Mr. Soloman. I've a few more left. But pray lose
no time in disclosing to me what hath befallen the St. Cecilia."

"Well then--but what I say must be in confidence. (The old woman says it
never shall get beyond her lips--never!) An Englishman of goodly looks,
fashion, and money--and, what is more in favor with our first families,
a Sir attached to his name, being of handsome person and accomplished
manners, and travelling and living after the manner of a nobleman, (some
of our first families are simple enough to identify a Baronet with
nobility!) was foully set upon by the fairest and most marriageable
belles of the St. Cecilia. If he had possessed a dozen hearts, he could
have had good markets for them all. There was such a getting up of
attentions! Our fashionable mothers did their very best in arraying the
many accomplishments of their consignable daughters, setting forth in
the most foreign but not over-refined phraseology, their extensive
travels abroad--"

"Yes!" interrupts Mrs. Swiggs, nervously--"I know how they do it. It's a
pardonable weakness." And she reaches out her hand and takes to her lap
her inseparable Milton.

"And the many marked attentions--offers, in fact--they have received at
the hands of Counts and Earls, with names so unpronounceable that they
have outlived memory--"

"Perhaps I have them in my book of autographs!" interrupts the credulous
old woman, making an effort to rise and proceed to an antique side-board
covered with grotesque-looking papers.

Mr. Soloman urbanely touches her on the arm--begs she will keep her
seat. The names only apply to things of the past. He proceeds,
"Well--being a dashing fellow, as I have said--he played his game
charmingly. Now he flirted