pon G.'s
amusing mishaps during a late tour in Switzerland, which had--"how
unfortunately!"--got into the papers. Now it was concerning the
admirable pulpit manners and easily pardoned vocal defects of a certain
new rector. Now it turned upon Stephen A. Douglas's last speech; passed
to the questionable merits of a new-fangled punch; and now, assuming a
slightly explanatory form from the gentlemen to the ladies, showed why
there was no need whatever to fear a financial crisis--which came soon
afterward.

The colonel inquired after an old gentleman whom he had known in earlier
days in Kentucky.

"It's many a year since I met him," he said. "The proudest man I ever
saw. I understand he was down here last season."

"He was," replied the host, in a voice of native kindness, and with a
smile on his high-fed face. "He was; but only for a short time. He went
back to his estate. That is his world. He's there now."

"It used to be considered one of the finest places in the State," said
the colonel.

"It is still," rejoined the host. "Doctor, you know him?"

"I think not," said Dr. Sevier; but somehow he recalled the old
gentleman in button gaiters, who had called on him one evening to
consult him about his sick wife.

"A good man," said the colonel, looking amused; "and a superb
gentleman. Is he as great a partisan of the church as he used to be?"

"Greater! Favors an established church of America."

The ladies were much amused. The host's son, a young fellow with
sprouting side-whiskers, said he thought he could be quite happy with
one of the finest plantations in Kentucky, and let the church go its own
gait.

"Humph!" said the father; "I doubt if there's ever a happy breath drawn
on the place."

"Why, how is that?" asked the colonel, in a cautious tone.

"Hadn't he heard?" The host was surprised, but spoke low. "Hadn't he
heard about the trouble with their only son? Why, he went abroad and
never came back!"

Every one listened.

"It's a terrible thing," said the hostess to the ladies nearest her; "no
one ever dares ask the family what the trouble is,--they have such odd,
exclusive ideas about their matters being nobody's business. All that
can be known is that they look upon him as worse than dead and gone
forever."

"And who will get the estate?" asked the banker.

"The two girls. They're both married."

"They're very much like their father," said the hostess, smiling with
gentle significance.

"Very