, and those great, languishing eyes, constantly
flashing with the light of irresistible love. Quoth ye! according to
what Mr. Stepfast told Mrs. Stepfast, the young Baronet would, with the
ideal of a real poet, as was he, have gone on recounting her charms
until sundown, had not Mr. Stepfast invited him to a quiet family
dinner. And to confirm what Mr. Stepfast said, Miss Robbs had been seen
by Mrs. Windspin looking in at Mrs. Stebbins', the fashionable
dress-maker, while the young Baronet had twice been at Spears', in King
Street, to select a diamond necklace of great value, which he left
subject to the taste of Miss Robbs. And putting them two and them two
together there was something in it!"

"I am truly glad it's nothing worse. There has been so much scandal got
up by vulgar people against our St. Cecilia."

"Worse, Madam?" interpolates our hero, ere she has time to conclude her
sentence, "the worst is to come yet."

"And I'm a member of the society!" Mrs. Swiggs replies with a
languishing sigh, mistaking the head of the cat for her Milton, and
apologizing for her error as that venerable animal, having got well
squeezed, sputters and springs from her grasp, shaking his head,
"elected solely on the respectability of my family."

Rather a collapsed member, by the way, Mr. Soloman thinks, contemplating
her facetiously.

"Kindly proceed--proceed," she says, twitching at her cap strings, as if
impatient to get the sequel.

"Well, as to that, being a member of the St. Cecilia myself, you see,
and always--(I go in for a man keeping up in the world)--maintaining a
high position among its most distinguished members, who, I assure you,
respect me far above my real merits, (Mrs. Swiggs says we won't say
anything about that now!) and honor me with all its secrets, I may, even
in your presence, be permitted to say, that I never heard a member who
didn't speak in high praise of you and the family of which you are so
excellent a representative."

"Thank you--thank you. O thank you, Mr. Soloman!" she rejoins.

"Why, Madam, I feel all my veneration getting into my head at once when
I refer to the name of Sir Sunderland Swiggs."

"But pray what came of the young Baronet?"

"Oh!--as to him, why, you see, he was what we call--it isn't a polite
word, I confess--a humbug."

"A Baronet a humbug!" she exclaims, fretting her hands and commencing to
rock herself in the chair.

"Well, as to that, as I was going on to say, after