ain
circumstances she might be willing to change her name again. Thus, for
instance, if a gentleman not too far gone in maturity, of dignified
exterior, with an ample fortune, and of unexceptionable character, should
happen to set his heart upon her, and the only way to make him happy was
to give up her weeds and go into those unbecoming colors again for his
sake,--why, she felt that it was in her nature to make the sacrifice. By
a singular coincidence it happened that a gentleman was now living in
Rockland who united in himself all these advantages. Who he was, the
sagacious reader may very probably have divined. Just to see how it
looked, one day, having bolted her door, and drawn the curtains close,
and glanced under the sofa, and listened at the keyhole to be sure there
was nobody in the entry,--just to see how it looked, she had taken out an
envelope and written on the back of it Mrs. Manilla Veneer. It made her
head swim and her knees tremble. What if she should faint, or die, or
have a stroke of palsy, and they should break into the room and find that
name written! How she caught it up and tore it into little shreds, and
then could not be easy until she had burned the small heap of pieces--

But these are things which every honorable reader will consider imparted
in strict confidence.

The Widow Rowens, though not of the mansion house set, was among the most
genteel of the two-story circle, and was in the habit of visiting some of
the great people. In one of these visits she met a dashing young fellow
with an olive complexion at the house of a professional gentleman who had
married one of the white necks and pairs of fat arms from a distinguished
family before referred to. The professional gentleman himself was out,
but the lady introduced the olive-complexioned young man as Mr. Richard
Venner.

The Widow was particularly pleased with this accidental meeting. Had
heard Mr. Venner's name frequently mentioned. Hoped his uncle was well,
and his charming cousin,--was she as original as ever? Had often admired
that charming creature he rode: we had had some fine horses. Had never
got over her taste for riding, but could find nobody that liked a good
long gallop since--well--she could n't help wishing she was alongside of
him, the other day, when she saw him dashing by, just at twilight.

The Widow paused; lifted a flimsy handkerchief with a very deep black
border so as to play the jet bracelet; pushed t