hnically called a man of the world, whose
frank insolence and symmetry of feature pass for manly beauty and
composure.

The miniature was in the face of a gold locket, on the back of which
there was a curl of the same fair hair. It was so fresh and glossy that
it might have been cut off the day before. But the quaintness of the
setting and the costume of the portrait showed that it had been taken
many years previous, and that in the order of nature the original was
probably dead.

As Mrs. Simcoe held the miniature in both hands and looked at it, her
body still rocked over it, and her lips still murmured.

Then rocking and murmuring stopped together, and she seemed like one
listening to music or the ringing of distant bells.

And as she sat perfectly still in the golden September sunshine, it was
as if it had shone into her soul; so that a softer light streamed into
her eyes, and the hard inscrutability of her face melted as by some
internal warmth, and a tender rejuvenescence somehow blossomed out upon
her cheeks until all the sweetness became sadness, and heavy tears
dropped from her eyes upon the picture.

Then, with the old harshness stealing into her face again, she rose
calmly, carrying the miniature in her hand, and went out of the room, and
down the stairs into the library, which was opposite the parlor in which
Abel Newt had seen the picture of old Grandpa Burt at the age of ten,
holding a hoop and book.

There were book-shelves upon every side but one--stately ranges of
well-ordered books in substantial old calf and gilt English bindings,
and so carefully placed upon the shelves, in such methodical distribution
of shapes and sizes, that the whole room had an air of preternatural
propriety utterly foreign to a library. It seemed the most select and
aristocratic society of books--much too fine to permit the excitement
of interest in any thing they contained--much too high-bred to be of the
slightest use in imparting information. Glass doors were carefully closed
over them and locked, as if the books were beatified and laid away in
shrines. And the same solemn order extended to the library table, which
was precisely in the middle of the room, with a large, solemn family
Bible precisely in the middle of the table, and smaller books, like
satellites, precisely upon the corners, and precisely on one side an
empty glass inkstand, innocent of ink spot or stain of any kind, with a
pen carefully mended and evident