ty by a similar explosion.

The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to the
fair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went; though my
mother declared she did not regret the journey, for if she had not gained
much good, she flattered herself she had imparted some, and that was
better: she had given some useful advice, which, she hoped, would not be
thrown away; for Mrs. Graham, though she said little to any purpose, and
appeared somewhat self-opinionated, seemed not incapable of
reflection,--though she did not know where she had been all her life,
poor thing, for she betrayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points,
and had not even the sense to be ashamed of it.

'On what points, mother?' asked I.

'On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, and such
things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she be
required to make a practical use of her knowledge or not. I gave her
some useful pieces of information, however, and several excellent
receipts, the value of which she evidently could not appreciate, for she
begged I would not trouble myself, as she lived in such a plain, quiet
way, that she was sure she should never make use of them. "No matter, my
dear," said I; "it is what every respectable female ought to know;--and
besides, though you are alone now, you will not be always so; you have
been married, and probably--I might say almost certainly--will be again."
"You are mistaken there, ma'am," said she, almost haughtily; "I am
certain I never shall."--But I told her I knew better.'

'Some romantic young widow, I suppose,' said I, 'come there to end her
days in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed--but it won't
last long.'

'No, I think not,' observed Rose; 'for she didn't seem very disconsolate
after all; and she's excessively pretty--handsome rather--you must see
her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you could hardly
pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Millward.'

'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though not
more charming. I allow she has small claims to perfection; but then, I
maintain that, if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting.'

'And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?'

'Just so--saving my mother's presence.'

'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk!--I know you don't mean it;
it's quite out of the question,' sa