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her, and read aloud from a marked passage to

which she opened easily :

"Man trusts in God;

He is eternal. Woman trusts in man,

And he is shifting sand.'

There is the evidence of one of your own sex," she said, "and he appears to speak from conviction."

Walworth's attention was demanded by one ⚫ of his mother's visitors, and he crossed the room. The Colonel bent over and said something in a low voice to Mildred.

She looked up in his face, and shook her head.

“No, indeed!” I am perfectly inaccessible to proof on this subject," she exclaimed, ran smiling away to assist Lillian, who was attempting to place a heavy book of prints on the table, from whence it had been taken for her amusement.

Dana Poinsett, who stood very near me, suppressed a sigh. "Certainly," I thought, "the interest of the play is deepening every hour. How will it be acted out?"

Just at this time I missed a daguerrotype likeness of myself, which I had intended for a birthday gift to Kate. At first I was persuaded I had mislaid it, but after a thorough search I reluctantly came to the conclusion that it had been taken from my drawing-room table, where I remembered to have laid it one evening when a large party of gentlemen were present. The merits of several Daguerrian artists were being discussed, and Mildred highly praised the likenesses of the man who had taken mine, which led to its production. So much I could recollect. What became of it remained a mystery. I knew that it was not uncommon for thoughtless young gentlemen to appropriate a daguerrotype likeness if it lay in their way, considering it fair spoil, and I was vexed at the thought of mine being thus purloined. Mildred attempted to tease me a great deal about an "unknown and modest admirer," whose modesty, however, I incontinently denied. For a long time after my loss, I scanned the faces of Mildred's gentlemen visitors, to discover, if possible, a conscious or annoyed expression meeting my close, half

questioning gaze, but nothing resulted from the examination, and I was constrained to put the best face on the matter with what grace I inight.

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Falstaff." Well, 'tis no matter: honor pricks me on. Yea, but how if honor prick me off, when I come on? how then? Can honor set a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honor? A word. What is that word honor? Air. A trim reckoning--who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it :-therefore I'll none of it. scutcheon, and so ends my catechism."

Honor is a mere
SHAKESPEARE.

BOUT this time Mildred and I were in
the habit of driving to the city, on the

afternoons of pleasant days, where we called upon Kate, made necessary and unnecessary purchases, and visited one or two painters' and sculptors' studios, which just then had attraction for us. The artists were for

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eigners, friends of Walworth's, and were engaged, the painter on a picture, the sculptor on a group, the progress of which we watched with increasing interest.

One day towards sunset we were on our way back to Glen-Beck. In passing one of the pretty little cottages that border the highroad from M-for a considerable distance, Mildred desired the coachman to stop.

"I must call and see how Mrs. Dalton is today," she explained to me. "Come, Bessie, you will be pleased to make her acquaintance, and she will excuse our unceremonious call."

I objected on the score of the strangeness of the proceeding.

"Oh, Bessie," Mildred returned, "Mrs. Dalton was never much influenced by the conventional usages of society, and now she is likely to be less so than ever. She is ill of a consumption, and her physician gives her no hope of living through the autumn months. Bessie, I have frequently spoken to her of you, and she expressed a desire to make your acquaintance when I called last with mamma." We proceeded up the little path that led to

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