wealthy widow, whom, as yet, he had seen only at a distance. This was Mr. Timmings, first and last teller in the bank of Tamerton: a little, thin, lightcomplexioned, small-featured old bachelor, verging on fifty-five, very spruce in his dress, and very much of a lady's man. He was supposed to be looking out for a rich wife, a blessing which he had no doubt his numerous attractions would eventually procure him. He had in the course of his life been in business in most of the chief cities of the Atlantic states, and had performed four bankruptcies: beginning at Boston, and proceeding down regularly along the seaboard, till he had failed successively in New York, Philadelphia and Baltimore. Happy to find that he had met Mrs. Gutheridge face to face, and yet lived, Mr. Timmings was emboldened to locate himself permanently in the vicinity of her chair, and occasionally to address her with a few complimentary words. It is true that she deigned no reply: but she did not otherwise insult him, and that was something.

Mr. Milstead now prepared to open the session, and for that purpose placed himself at the reading table, and took up a book; when Mr. Timmings stopped him hastily by saying: "Mr. Milstead-sir -perhaps sir-in all probability there is something that Mrs. Gutheridge would particularly prefer.

Pray madam-may I presume-would you have the goodness to mention what piece you would especially recommend. Mr. Milstead, of course you will be guided by Mrs. Gutheridge's taste."

Mr. Milstead half closed the volume: for after this appeal he could do no less than wait for the mandate of the lady. Mrs. Gutheridge paused a moment, but as she really knew nothing of books, she prudently and haughtily replied, addressing herself to Mr. Milstead: "Go on, sir. It is, of course, a matter of perfect indifference to me. I should be wanting to myself if I took any interest in these things."

Mr. Milstead coloured, and the cheeks of his wife were suffused in sympathy; however, he recovered in a moment, and again opened the book, which was the Western Souvenir: a little work highly creditable to the tase and genius of our brethren beyond the mountains. He selected Judge Hall's simple and thrilling tale of the Indian Hater, and read it with so much effect as completely to enchain the attention of most of his auditors; only, that in the fine passage where the backwoodsman describes with such agonized feeling the destruction of his whole family, Mrs. Neckgusset in a loud whisper asked Mrs. Hemmings across the work-table for the

loan of a spool No. 42, and Mrs. Scratchgather lamented audibly the present scarcity of three threaded sewing cotton.

Mrs. Milstead read next, and she chose Irving's beautiful and affecting story of the Widow and her Son, which drew tears from the eyes of many of the audience. To be sure, Mrs. Milstead had to stop short in the heart-rendering description of the burial of the poor young sailor, and to wait till a commotion at the work-table had subsided; Mrs. Puckerseam having dropped her thimble, and her companions all rising at her request, and moving back their chairs to give her an immediate opportunity of seeking it on the carpet. However, the thimble was recovered, and order restored: the tale was concluded, and those who were capable of feeling it as they ought, were somewhat annoyed at the pert voice of Mr. Timmings, saying, "Quite pathetic!" and at Mrs. Parley Utley foolishly observing, "I declare we shall all be solemnized."

“I vote,” said Mr. Timmings," that we now have something lively; something to brighten the eyes and bring out the smiles of the ladies, unless indeed, Mrs. Gutheridge prefers pieces of a serious cast." "Pray madam," said Mrs. Utley, once more venturing on Mrs. Gutheridge, "which do you like best

of the two muses we used to read of in Scotch Lessons,* the one that was ever musing melancholy, or she that was full of quips and cranks?t Now I must say that for myself I am rather for quips and cranks: especially at reading parties.”

Mrs. Gutheridge turned on her an awful look, folded her arms, leaned back in' her chair, and fixed her eyes on the ceiling. Mrs. Parley Utley bent her diminished head over her knitting.

Mr. Chetwin, the schoolmaster, a sensible man and an excellent reader, was sitting near her: and pitying her confusion, he said gaily: "Well, Mrs. Utley, I will give you something that I think you will find diverting." And with much spirit and humour he read Paulding's admirable account of the night in the steamboat, when he was so much incommoded by the presence of an inveterate snorer.

A moment before Mr. Chetwin began, Dr. Juste Milieu made his appearance, having been detained during the early part of the evening by visiting a far-off patient. He took his seat between the reading-table and Mrs. Gutheridge, and was much struck by the immovable gravity of her countenance. the first laugh, he could not forbear saying to her in his imperfect English: "You keep your serious!"

*Scott's Lessons on Elocution.

See Milton's Il Penseroso and L'Allegro.

At

regarding her with a look of unfeigned surprise. Mr. Chetwin read on, and another peal of laughter again directed the French doctor's attention towards Mrs. Gutheridge, and still he saw the same determined rigidity of muscle. "You keep your serious still," he exclaimed in amazement, and then murmured to himself. "C'est inconcévable!"

The piece concluded amid audible demonstrations of risibility, and the astonished Frenchman, turning to Mr. Timmings, ejaculated: "En effect c'est trop, she keeps her serious all through! I protest, avec solemnité, that she is the most hard-faced lady I ever had the honour to meet with in my life."

Mrs. Gutheridge fixed on the French doctor one of her looks of annihilation, but he now only regarded her as an object of professional study, and as such, he gazed on her face with a curiosity that nothing could repel.

Mrs. Gutheridge slowly arose, and pompously advancing towards Mr. and Mrs. Milstead, she coldly took leave of them. "It is yet quite early, madam," said Mrs. Milstead, in some surprise. "Will you not wait till your carriage can be sent for?" asked Mr. Milstead. "I shall be too happy to run up to your house, and have it brought for you," volunteered Mr. Timmings; "I beg you will honour me by commanding my services in every thing." "I want