that was calculated to remind an observing person of Miss Corinne
when she was crowned in the Capitol at Rome.

Mr. King come forward to meet me with his hand held out. He is a thin,
spare man, with the sweetest and kindest look in his face that you ever
saw. I had intended to just touch his hand, and make a sweeping salute,
half bow, half curtsey, that would take in the whole admiring crowd; but
his frank, smiling welcome just took me right off from my feet, and I
gave his hand a good, hearty New England shake that made him feel to
home in a minute.

Mr. King led me into the parlor, and gave me a soft seat among the
cushions of a sofa in the middle room, just as Solomon must have waited
on the Queen of Sheba. Then, feeling that the eyes of more States than
Vermont were upon me, I spread out my skirts, leaned one arm on the sofa
cushion, and settled myself just as Mr. Brady had done it when I sat to
him for a picture; thus adding an artistic feature to the fashionable
and intellectual embodiment of my first appearance. Thus, with downcast
eyes and a modest demeanor, which must have been attractive, I waited
for the literary programme that lay before us.

It commenced beautifully. Mr. King took his place under the chandelier
of the middle room, and welcomed his friends with a very poetic and
touching little speech, which ended in a farewell which almost brought
tears into my eyes. This was his last reunion for the year, and he
seemed to feel the breaking-up a good deal, and his kind voice shook
when he mentioned the possibility that death might carry off some of the
friends who had brightened his home, before they all met again.

When Mr. King sat down there was dumb silence for a little while; for
the whole crowd seemed to feel all he had been saying, deep in their
hearts. But this soon changed into smiles and a soft rustle of dresses,
for a nice elderly gentleman got up and made a delightful speech, full
of cheerfulness and nice friendly feeling, which brightened the whole
crowd up like spring winds in a flower-garden.

After this, another pleasant gentleman arose with a written poem in his
hand, which he read under the gaslight, filling the whole room with the
sound of his friendly voice.

The poem was written to Mr. King. It was full of sweet thoughts and
grateful thanks for all he had done to make his friends happy. But he
blushed like a girl, for its praises seemed to take him by surprise,
and, like all men