uncomfortable manner, but no comment comes.

"And I, Mr. BUMSTEAD," says the old lawyer, "must apologize to you for
having indulged a wrong suspicion. Possibly you were rather rash in
charging everybody else with assassination and larceny, and offering to
marry my ward upon the strength of her dislike to you; but we'll say no
more of those things now. Miss POTTS has consented to become Mrs.
PENDRAGON; Miss PENDRAGON is the betrothed of Rev. Mr. SIMPSON,--"

"--Miss CAROWTHERS honors me with a matrimonial preference,"
interpolates Judge SWEENEY, gallantly bowing to that spinster.--

"--Breachy Mr. BLODGETT!" sighs the lady, to herself.--

"--And three weddings will help us to forget everything but that which
is bright and pleasant," concludes the lawyer.

Next steps to the front Mr. TRACEY CLEWS, with his surprising head of
hair, and archly remarks:

"I believe you take me for a literary man, Mr. BUMSTEAD."

"What is that to me, sir? _I've_ no money to lend," returns the
organist, with marked uneasiness.

"To tell you the truth," proceeds the author of "The Amateur Detective,"
--"to tell you the whole truth, I have been playing the detective with
you by order of Mr. DIBBLE, and hope you will excuse my practice upon
you."