"What, Cornelia Adderley that was?" exclaimed Mrs. Gilmore. "We were certainly intimate enough when girls, our families living for several years next door; but since Cornelia married and removed to a remote part of Virginia, we have lost sight of each other. We corresponded for awhile at first, but our letters gradually became less frequent, and at last ceased entirely, for you know I was married myself soon after Cornelia, and then I lost all inclination for letter-writing; as is generally the case, I believe, with women that are settled in life, and have no longer anything to write about."

"Well," said Mr. Gilmore, "you will no doubt be glad to renew your friendship with the ci-devant Cornelia Adderley, whom I recollect as an uncommonly fine girl. You know, we heard of the death of Mr. Chaloner eight or nine years ago. She has been spending most of the winter at Washington, having had business with Congress, on account of a claim of her late husband's against the United States. She is here with some friends from the south, and they leave town for Boston in a few days."

"But who told you all this?" asked Mrs. Gilmore. "Herself," was his reply; "I stepped in at the United States Hotel, to inquire if Mr. Atkinson had yet arrived, and I saw her name on the book. So, believing it to be that of our old friend, I made her a visit and introduced myself;-Mrs. Chaloner and her party have a private parlour at the hotel. I was glad to find that she recognised me even before I mentioned my name, notwithstanding the lapse of more than sixteen years. You know her marriage took place about three months before ours." "How long will Mrs. Chaloner remain in town?" asked Mrs. Gilmore.

"Only two or three days. Of course, you will call and see her this afternoon, and show her all possible kindness during her stay in Philadelphia."

"I am just thinking how that is to be managed. What a pity she did not arrive in town a month ago, and then I could have had her at my party!"

"That would have been nothing," said Mr. Gilmore. "Nothing-my dear, how can you talk so! What better could I have done for Cornelia Chaloner, than to invite her with all my

other friends?"

"Friends!" exclaimed her husband; "why will you persist in calling a crowd of several hundred people your friends!" "So they were," said Mrs. Gilmore. "You know very well it was not a general party."

"Is it possible you were acquainted with even the names of all the people I saw here that night?" asked Mr. Gilmore. know not what you call a general party if that was not one."'

in the flowers of others. The heat was so great that all the real curls came out, and hung in strings; and numbers of ladies caught violent colds from passing nearly the whole time on the stairs, and in the entry, for the sake of coolness."

"And you regret that your friend, Mrs. Chaloner, was not here to enjoy all this ?" said Mr. Gilmore. "Enjoy?" returned his wife. "Was it not a splendid party? Think of the sum that it cost."

"You need not tell me that," said the husband.

"Rather too

large a sum to be expended by persons in middle life, for one evening of pain-pleasure I am sure it was not to any human being.' "Middle life!" repeated Mrs. Gilmore; "you are always talking of our being in middle life, even before strangers." And even if we were to expend five times the sum on one evening of foolery and suffering, I doubt if we should still be admitted into what is termed high life."

"So we are.

"You know well enough," replied Mrs. Gilmore, "that I have friends at whose houses I have met with people of the very first rank and fashion-people who treated me so politely when I was introduced, that I did not hesitate to call on them previous to my party, as a preparatory step to sending them invitations."

"But did they come when thus you called on them?" asked her husband, smiling.

"Nonsense, Mr. Gilmore," replied the lady, "they all sent very reasonable excuses, and sincere regrets.”

66

Well," resumed Mr. Gilmore, "we have discussed this subject often enough. But what is it all to the widow Chaloner?" "Why I don't know exactly what to do with her-I cannot give another party this season."

"Heaven forbid you should!" ejaculated her husband.

"Well, as to inviting a small select company to meet Mrs. Chaloner, as some people would, that's quite out of my way. I give one great party every season, and then I have done my duty, and my conscience is clear till next season: having paid off my debts to all that have invited me to their parties, and laid a foundation for future invitations next winter."

"Well, it was not," resumed the wife. "A general party is when we ask everybody with whom we are on visiting terms: and invite by families, even when some of the members are not exactly such as we like to show to the élite of our circle. For instance, I did not ask Mrs. Lilburn's sisters, though they live in the house with her, nor Mrs. Laidley's neither; nor Mrs. Wilkinson's cousin Margaret; nor Mrs. Bramfield's two stepdaughters, though I had all three of her own; nor the Miss Herberts' aunt ; nor Mrs. Danby's sister-in-law; nor Mrs. Ashton's neither; also, I invited nobody that lives north of Chesnut-street. Now, if I had not taken care beforehand, to have it understood that I was not going to give a general party, I should have been obliged to invite all these people."

"In other words," observed Mr. Gilmore, "a general party is one in which the feelings of all your acquaintances are respected: whereas they may be offended with impunity, if your crowd is designated as select."

"Well," resumed Mrs. Gilmore, "I am sure there was crowd enough; notwithstanding that I left out everybody whom there was no advantage in having. Not half the ladies even saw the supper-table; at least, no more of it than the tops of the sugar temples and pyramids. And when the dancing commenced, there was only room for half-cotillions, of four people in each. And the sleeves were all pressed flat, as everybody was jammed into one mass; and the blond of some was torn to tatters by catching

From the "Gift."

"How was she dressed?"

"I did not observe."

"That is so like you. I am sure if I were to buy all my things at the cheap stores, where they keep nothing but trash, and have them made up by cheap mantua-makers and milliners, you would be none the wiser. I do not believe you would know the difference between a bonnet from Gaubert's or Pintard's and one made in

the Northern Liberties."

"I am certain I should not," replied her husband; "but let us now postpone this discussion, and go to dinner."

In the afternoon, as they proceeded together towards the United States Hotel, the subject was renewed by Mrs. Gilmore saying: "As to my troubling myself with any extra evening company after having given my party, that is entirely out of the question." "Then invite Mrs. Chaloner to dinner," said Mr. Gilmore, "and ask the Roxleys, and Harmans, and Lysters, to meet her; they are among the pleasantest people we know."

"I cannot undertake all that," replied the lady; "the trouble and expense of a dinner would far exceed that of a small tea party.

"In this instance I am willing to pay the cost," said Mr. Gilmore, "for I expect some gratification in return for it."

"You talk of your own gratification," said Mrs. Gilmore, her the superb silver card-case that she saw at Baily and Kitchen's "and yet you refuse to make poor Mary Jane happy by giving the day she got her last ear-rings, and that she has been longing

"Yes, to be sure," pursued his wife. "Is it not our duty to consult cheapness in all unnecessary expenses? You know that we have a large family, and now that Mary Jane has come out, our bills for articles of dress and jewellery are of course very much enhanced."

"I know that perfectly," replied Mr. Gilmore; “she ought not to have come out for at least two years,-seventeen would have been quite time enough."

"There was no possibility of keeping her in," remarked Mrs. Gilmore.

"But, as I was saying, the cheapest way is to invite Cornelia Chaloner to stay at our house while she is in town; and she will no doubt consider it a greater compliment than if we made a dinner or tea party for her. It will look as if we desired only the pleasure of her society, and were unwilling to lose any part of it by sharing it with others."

"I am not certain though," said Mr. Gilmore, "that she will find our society (if we give her nothing else) a sufficient compensation for what she will lose by resigning that of the friends with whom she is staying at the hotel."

"How you talk!" replied Mrs. Gilmore. "Have you no idea of the delight of calling up recollections of our days of girlhood, and of discussing once more our former lovers?"

It will not take you very long to get through your old sweethearts," observed Mr. Gilmore,-"myself and the two midshipmen make three."

Before the lady could reply, they had reached the door of the United States Hotel, and were immediately conducted to the parlour occupied by Mrs. Chaloner and her party. They found her alone and expecting them, as Mr. Gilmore had told her he would bring his wife to see her that afternoon. She received Mrs. Gilmore with open arms, and both ladies seemed very glad to meet again after so long a separation; for they had been extremely intimate at so early an age that the characters of both were still unformed.

Mrs. Gilmore examined the dress of her friend with a scrutinising eye, and wondered how a woman could look so well in a plain black silk; and wondered, also, why any one with such a profusion of fine hair should wear a cap, and why it should be a little close cap simply trimmed with white riband. Yet she now felt rather glad that Mrs. Chaloner had not come to town a month sooner. "After all," thought she, "poor Cornelia would not have been much of an ornament to my party; for I can easily see that her style is always very plain. To be sure, as it was not a general party, I need not have asked her. Yes, yes-I see clearly that it is not worth while to invite any of my friends to meet her either at dinner or at tea."

However, Mrs. Gilmore earnestly pressed Mrs. Chaloner to remove to her house, and pass with her the two days she was yet to remain in town. Mrs. Chaloner, who, though she was very pleasantly situated at the hotel, imagined that she might spend two days still more agreeably with one of the most intimate friends of her youth, was soon prevailed on to accept the invitation. She was engaged to go with her party to Fairmount that afternoon, and to the theatre in the evening; and it was arranged that she should remove to Spruce-street at an early hour next morning. All being satisfactorily settled, Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore took their leave. By the evening post, Mr. Gilmore received a letter requiring his immediate presence in New York on some business of importance, which would most probably detain him there several days. He was therefore obliged to set out next morning in the early boat, lamenting that he was thus prevented from participating in the pleasure of Mrs. Chaloner's visit, and desiring his wife to do all in her power to make it agreeable to that lady; so that she would have no occasion to regret leaving the hotel, and her own party.

"I shall treat her just as I would my sister," replied Mrs. Gilmore;" but make haste, my dear, or you will be too late for the boat."

"Mama," said Mary Jane Gilmore, who was not yet fifteen, "a'nt you going to dress yourself, and sit in the front parlour all day with Mrs. Chaloner?

"Not I indeed," replied Mrs. Gilmore; "you know, as I am never at home to morning visitors, it is not my way to sit up dressed in the parlour, and therefore, as of course I would not put myself out of the way for so old a friend as Cornelia Chaloner,

I can be at my ease in a wrapper. As for having such parlours as ours littered with sewing, that is quite out of the question. And besides, they are so much darkened by the window-curtains, that there is no seeing to thread a needle, or to read a word even in the annuals that lie on the centre table."

"But she might look out of the window," observed Mary Jane.

"She could not see much through the muslin blinds," replied Mrs. Gilmore, "they are worked so closely all over, and I won't have them rumpled by drawing aside."

"It is well pa's not at home," remarked the daughter. "I am very glad he is not," resumed Mrs. Gilmore.

"He and

I have such different views with regard to entertaining company, and he is always so hard to counteract. However, Mary Jane, you must constantly bear in mind that it is the duty of all children to consider their father superior to every man in the world." Yes, mama," replied Mary Jane; "but you know very well that 'pa has a great many queer notions."

Undoubtedly he has," answered the mother, "and he is in every respect the reverse of myself. But remember always that it is your duty as a child to be blind to his faults, however great they may be."

About eleven o'clock, Mrs. Chaloner came to the door in a carriage, with a small trunk containing a change of clothes. "Dear me!" said Mrs. Gilmore, "who would have thought of her being here before twelve, at the earliest. When I urged her to come directly after breakfast, I had no idea that she would take me at my word; nobody ever does. Run down, Mary Jane, and show Mrs. Chaloner into the back spare bed-room till she gets her bonnet off, and then bring her into the nursery. I shall not put myself the least out of my way. If visitors will come, they must take me as they find me.'

Accordingly Mrs. Chaloner was ushered into the nursery; a long narrow room in that part of the house denominated the back building, with a low ceiling, low windows, and a door opening into a sort of balcony or verandah. This apartment always presented a most disorderly appearance, and the furniture (which was very plain) had been much abused by the children. But though it was the constant abiding-place of the successive Irish nurses, it was in the nursery that Mrs. Gilmore spent most of her time; there she sat in the full enjoyment of extreme déshabiller, except when in an exuberance of finery she went out for the purpose of shopping, or of making visits by leaving her card; her professed devotion to her children never preventing her, during the season, from spending the first part of every evening at her toilet, and the last at a large party.

'My dear Cornelia," said Mrs. Gilmore, "I am delighted to see you. But how late you are! Mary Jane and I have been anxiously expecting you ever since breakfast. Do take a seat on the couch. Nelly, shake up the pillows, the boys have been on them with their feet. You find me just going to dress the baby; a thing I always do myself, before Nelly carries her out walking; you were right to bring your sewing. You must make yourself quite at home, and neither use ceremony nor expect any. Mary Jane, are you going out this morning? "To be sure I am," replied the daughter; "I shall begin dressing immediately."

"Pintard won't be hurried," said Mary Jane. "Besides I have visits of my own on hand, and no time to stop at all those places.' "Mildness of voice and deportment, my dear Mary Jane," proceeded Mrs. Gilmore sententiously, "and strict compliance with the wishes of a parent, are peculiarly becoming to all young ladies who desire-"

"She

But before her mother had time to finish the sentence, Mary Jane had flounced out of the room, shutting the door violently. "A perfect child of nature," observed Mrs. Gilmore. is, as yet, incapable of self-control, and is considered brusque. But brusquerie sometimes succeeds quite as well as manner. Mary Jane takes exceedingly. The other night, at Mrs. Dellinger's, she was constantly surrounded by gentlemen. She is but fifteen, and her father thinks I brought her out too soon. there was no such thing as keeping her back."

"So I should suppose," thought Mrs. Chaloner.

But

hush."

"I remember it very well," replied Mrs. Chaloner. eighteen years ago."

"It was

"I wore a crêpe lisse looped up with daffodils over a primrosecoloured satin," pursued Mrs. Gilmore. "There now, baby, hold still till I pin its petticoat; hush, darling, hush. She always cries when I dress her.-Yes, as I was saying, I wore that night a pale yellow crêpe lisse; the sleeves were in bouffants divided with rouleaux of primrose-coloured riband, finished with rosettes, and Frank Edwards said to me very gallantly-Baby, you must not cry so; be quiet now till I put your frock on.-What was your dress, Cornelia?"

"Indeed I have no recollection," replied Mrs. Chaloner; "but I remember that the ball was a very pleasant ball, and that a very amusing incident occurred."

"I found nothing there that amused me so much," said Mrs. Gilmore, "as seeing Mrs. Denham in the same eternal black velvet that she had worn everywhere for three winters. But, as I was telling you, Frank Edwards said to me-Baby, hush, or mother will whip her. See now, stop crying, and look at its pretty pink cloak."

The baby did stop, and did look at its cloak, which was of embroidered merino, lined with white silk.

"And Cornelia," pursued Mrs. Gilmore, " don't you remember the day, when a large party of us went down to the Navy-yard to see a ship or something, that there came on a sudden rain all in a moment; and before we could get to the carriages, my chip hat was completely ruined? It was perfectly new, and you know it was trimmed with pearl-white riband, and a wreath of cape jessamine. There now, baby's quite ready. Come, darling, shake a day-day before it goes."

After the baby had shaken a day-day and departed, Mrs. Gilmore went to the glass, to arrange her disordered wrapper, to smooth her still more disordered hair; and she had thoughts of putting on a clean cap, but concluded, that as her husband was not at home to insist on it, and as she should see nobody that day, it was not worth while. She talked all the time to Mrs. Chaloner, sometimes of her children, and sometimes of what she called old times, but in reality these reminiscences adverted only to the dresses she had worn on certain occasions in her girlhood, and to the compliments paid her by the persons she denominated her beaux. And such was her volubility, that Mrs. Chaloner, though a woman of excellent conversational powers, had seldom an opportunity of speaking at all.

Mrs. Gilmore (who notwithstanding her passion for dress and parties, professed to be au fait to all the petty details of housewifery, and was one of those very common characters, that exercise the closest economy in some things, and the most lavish extravagance in others) sat down to piecing together some very old calico for a servant's bed-quilt, saying to Mrs. Chaloner, "This is not very pretty work to bring out before a visitor; but you know I do not consider you as a stranger."

In a few minutes the street-door was thrown violently open, and a "rabble rout "2 was heard ascending the stairs. Presently, in rushed five boys just from school, and shouting for bread and molasses. But they all stopped short, and stared at the sight of Mrs. Chaloner.

"Never mind, my dears," said their mother; "it is only Mrs. Chaloner, an old friend of mine. My dear Cornelia, I am sorry you have no children, you know not the pleasure of them."

The boys having recovered from their surprise, now clamoured with one accord for the bread and molasses; and Mrs. Chaloner thought that, like Mary Jane, they certainly wanted manner. Mrs. Gilmore mildly requested them to go and apply to Phillis for it. "You know very well," said one of the boys, "that Phillis always drives us out of the kitchen, and says she won't be plagued while she's getting dinner. We are afraid of Phillis."

"I wish you were half as much afraid of me," murmured their mother. However, she went down to supply their demands, saying as she left the room," I do not ask you to take anything by way of luncheon, my dear Cornelia, lest it should spoil your dinner."

"What for?" said the urchin, who was just then busily employed in unwinding and tangling one of Mrs. Chaloner's cottonspools. "Come and kiss mama."

Mrs. Chaloner now endeavoured to give a turn to the conversation, by inquiring after one of their former friends, Helen Harley.

"Oh! she married William Orford," replied Mrs. Gilmore. "Only think, her wedding dress was a plain brown gros des Indes; some said it was a gros de Suisse. Just imagine, a bride in brown. Helen was always eccentric. My dear boys, let me request that you will all go down and play in the yard."

Her dear boys took no heed of the request, but persisted in acting naturally by scampering in and out of the balcony, (sometimes through the door, but generally through the windows,) prancing on the couch, and throwing its pillows in each other's faces, oversetting chairs and stools, and trampling on their mother's sewing. One of them being pursued by another with the hearth-brush, fell over Mrs. Chaloner, and seized her silk dress in his molasses-daubed hands to assist himself in rising. Another with similar hands snatched her reticule to pelt his brother with, and scattered its contents all over the floor. But it were endless to relate their pranks; none of which were the least amusing, though all were extremely annoying. They played at nothing, and there was no meaning in their fun. It was nothing but senseless running, shouting, and scrambling. Besides which, they were ugly, and had remarkably foolish faces. Mrs. Gilmore said that all her children took after herself; and Mrs. Chaloner saw no reason to doubt the truth of the assertion.

Dinner was at last announced; Mary Jane made her appearance, and the ladies descended to the dining-room, where they found the boys (who had run down en masse before them) already squabbling about their seats.

Mrs. Gilmore requested Mary Jane to place herself between James and Joseph, to keep them apart; but that young lady refusing, her mother said to Mrs. Chaloner, "My dear Cornelia, will you oblige me by taking a seat between those two young gentlemen, who are apt to be a little unruly when they sit together.' Mrs. Chaloner complied; and the boys were all the time striking at each other behind her back.

"We have a very plain dinner to-day," said the hostess. "When Mr. Gilmore is at home, he and I, and Mary Jane, do not dine till three; and the children have an early dinner by themselves, at one o'clock, on account of their going to school again at two. But as he is absent, and I do not consider you as a stranger, I did not think it worth while to have two dinners prepared. What shall I help you to?"

The two youngest boys now cried out to be helped first, and as their mother knew they would persist, she complied with their demand, saying, "My dear Cornelia, I am sure you will excuse the poor little fellows. Children are always hungry, and we can have no comfort with our dinner unless we pacify them first. Anything, you know, for peace and quietness.'

The children soon devoured their meat, and while the ladies were still eating theirs, the pudding was called for and cut, and the juveniles were all served with it, by way of keeping them pacified. Little Willy, thinking that his brother George had rather a larger piece of pudding than himself, fell into a violent tantrum, screamed and kicked, and finally, by Mary Jane's order, was carried from the table by the servant-man. And the mother rose up and begged to be excused, while she went out to quiet the poor little fellow; which she did by carrying with her a much larger piece of pudding. Mrs. Chaloner silently wishing that the children were less natural, or rather, that their nature was better, or that she was considered more of a stranger.

"It is always so when papa is away," said Mary Jane. "But mama is rightly served, for not having two dinners as usual." When the uncomfortable repast was finished, and peace restored by the boys going to school, Mrs. Gilmore retired to her chamber, having informed her guest, that it was her custom and Mary Jane's, always to take an afternoon nap in their respective rooms, and, "I suppose," said she, " 'you would like to do the Mrs. Chaloner was not inclined to sleep, but she had no objection to the quiet of her own apartment, and she expressed a desire to take a book with her.

same."

"Except a few annuals," said Mary Jane, "we have no books except those in papa's library (neither mama nor myself having any time to read); but I will take you there to choose one. believe he has the Waverley novels, and Cooper's, and others that I hear people talk about.'

When they reached the library, they found the door barricadoed by a table, on which a woman was standing while she cleaned the paint; and looking in, they saw another scrubbing the floor, half of which was floated with water. The books were all in disorder, having been taken down to be dusted and it was found that Mrs. Gilmore had seized the opportunity of her husband's absence to have his library cleaned. To go in here is impossible," said Mary Jane, "but I will bring you one of the annuals from the centre table in the front parlour."

:

The annual was brought, and Mrs. Chaloner retired with it to her apartment; but having read it before, she did not find it very amusing.

In the evening it rained, and Mrs. Gilmore said that she was glad of it, as now she need not dress; and as her husband was away, there could be no danger of any of his visitors dropping in. Also that it was not worth while to have the parlours opened, as they had been shut up all day. So they spent the evening in the eating-room; and Mary Jane wisely went to bed immediately after tea, longing, as she said, to get her corsets off. The younger boys slept about the sofa and carpet, and screamed when any one touched or spoke to them; the elder boys racketted overhead in the nursery. The baby was brought down, and kept worrying about the table in the arms of Nelly, till nine o'clock, that it might sleep the better during the night. When the justly-fretting infant could be kept awake no longer, either by wafting it up and down, showing it the lamp, jingling a bunch of keys in its ears, or shaking a string of beads before its closing eyes, it was undressed on the spot, crying all the time, having been thoroughly wakened in the process; and it was finally carried off by Nelly, whose dismal chant, as she rocked and sang it to sleep, was heard from above stairs for half an hour.

Mrs. Gilmore now seemed so very tired and sleepy, that her guest (who was tired also) took her leave for the night, and repaired to her chamber. This apartment, though called a spare bed-room, was used by every member of the family as a receptacle for all sorts of things; and Mrs. Chaloner being (unfortunately for her) considered no stranger, nothing had been removed with a view to her accommodation. While she had sat there reading in the afternoon, at night when she was preparing for bed, and in the morning before she was up, and while she was dressing, her privacy was continually invaded by the nurse, the other servants, and even Mrs. Gilmore, and Mary Jane, coming up to get various articles from the closets, bureaus, and presses. This chamber was unhappily on the same floor with the dormitories of the boys, who began their career at daylight; chasing each other along the passage, and enacting a general wrestling-match so close to Mrs. Chaloner's door, that they burst it open in the mêlée, and fell into the room, while she was engaged at the washing-stand. There was another spare bed-room, superior in every respect to this; but Mrs. Gilmore did not think it worth while to be so ceremonious with her old friend Cornelia Chaloner, as to place her in the best of the two chambers.

As soon as the mother and daughter met in the morning"Mary Jane," said Mrs. Gilmore, "I have been thinking of something-Miss Nancy Risings has not yet made her weekly visit: as we may be sure of the infliction between this and Sunday, suppose we kill two birds with one stone, and have her to-day with Mrs. Chaloner?"

people as she finds them; and as she is the least hard to please, I dare say she will get along well enough with Miss Nancy, who must be tolerated, as your father in his foolish kindness will not allow her to be affronted away. So we will send for her to come to-day, and no doubt the poor old thing will be highly pleased with the compliment, as I dare say it is the first time in her life she ever was sent for by anybody."

Miss Nancy Risings was an old maiden lady who lived alone, on a very small income, derived from a ground rent; and to make it hold out, she was in the habit of visiting round in seven or eight families with whom she had long been acquainted. After the death of Mrs. Gilmore's mother, whom she had visited once a week for twenty-five years, Miss Nancy transferred her visits to the daughter, and as it was really an object of some importance to the old lady to spend every day from home, Mr. Gilmore insisted on her being received by his family; and she was not in the least fastidious as to the mode of reception.

Accordingly, Miss Nancy Risings was sent for, and by the time breakfast was over, and the boys prevailed on to go to school, the old lady arrived; and she and their other guest were ushered into the back parlour; Mary Jane having protested to her mother that it would be too bad to condemn Mrs. Chaloner to another day of the nursery, particularly as she had Miss Nancy in addition.

The two visitors were now left alone. Miss Nancy had her knitting, and Mrs. Chaloner her sewing. Mrs. Chaloner kindly endeavoured to draw her into conversation, but in vain, for Miss Nancy had no talent for talking, or for anything else. She had read nothing, seen nothing, heard nothing, and she knew nothing; and her replies were little more than monosyllables. Mrs. Chaloner, as the morning was fine, had intended going out; but down came Mrs. Gilmore and Mary Jane full dressed for shopping and card-leaving.

"As by this time, my dear Cornelia, you must feel quite at home," said Mrs. Gilmore, "I need make no apology for leaving you with Miss Nancy Risings, who is a very particular friend and a great favourite of mine. Make yourselves happy together till dinner-time, for I doubt if we can get home much before." And out they sallied, leaving Mrs. Chaloner to feel very much as if caught in a trap. But her good-nature prevailed; and having by this time learned to consider a visit as a salutary trial of patience, she proceeded with the heavy task of entertaining the unentertainable Miss Nancy.

At noon the boys rushed home and behaved as usual. Mrs. Gilmore and her daughter being very tired with running about all the morning, put on undresses to come to dinner in; and the dinner proceedings were the same as the day before. Early in the afternoon, Mrs. Chaloner took her leave, and terminated her visit; having, as she truly said, some purchases to make previous to leaving town next morning for Boston. Mrs. Gilmore professed great regret at the departure of her dear Cornelia, and hoped that whenever she came to Philadelphia, she would always make a point of staying at her house. Mary Jane expressed much disappointment at Mrs. Chaloner leaving them before evening; and she really felt it, as she knew that it would now fall to her lot to get Miss Nancy through the remainder of the day.

We need not inform our readers with what satisfaction Mrs. Chaloner found herself that evening again at the hotel, and in the society of the refined and intelligent friends with whom she was travelling to Boston, to visit a brother who had married and settled there.

Mr. Gilmore did not return for three weeks, having extended his journey to the far east. The first thing he told on his arrival at home, was that he had been at a wedding the evening before he left Boston, and that the bride was Mrs. Chaloner.

Great surprise was expressed by Mrs. Gilmore, and Mary Jane; and they were still more amazed to hear that the bridegroom, Mr. Rutledge, was a southern gentleman of large property, and of high standing in every respect. Having become acquainted with Mrs. Chaloner at Washington, he had followed her to Boston, as soon as Congress broke up, (it was one of the long sessions,) and had there prevailed on her to return with him as his wife. They were married at her brother's, and were going home by way of the lakes, and therefore should not pass through Philadelphia.

"How very extraordinary, Mary Jane!" said Mrs. Gilmore to her daughter, as soon as they were alone; "who could have guessed the possibility of that plain looking little woman making a great match! I remember hearing when she married Mr.