I felt delicate on the point of intruding upon private sorrows, and so, I
presume, did my loquacious friend for she was actually _silent_;--albeit,
I perceived that the good woman was embarrassed as to the line of conduct
she ought to adopt towards the afflicted stranger. To make acquaintance
with, and comfort her, was the prompting of her benevolent heart; so she
put a blue glass bottle of smelling-salts into the mournful lady's hand,
which was immediately returned with a dignified, repellant bow. The basket
of provisions was next offered; but this the weeping fair one, it was
clear, did not _see_; and my honest widow, not a little disconcerted, made
yet another attempt to console one who evidently "_would_ not be
comforted," by a full, particular, and authentic relation of certain woful
passages in her own monotonous life. All, however, would not do--Niobe
still wept; and the widow and I felt ourselves in a very awkward,
uncomfortable situation.

After awhile, however, we took up another passenger--a "_lady_" again--and,
Heaven bless the woman! one even more voluble than my first companion, and
decidedly more candid, since she had not been seated five minutes in the
vehicle, ere she unblushingly announced herself--a _baker's wife_! Good
Heavens! and in these march-of-intellect and refinement days, too! Well
might Niobe wake with a start from her trance of woe, and, glancing
sovereign contempt upon the new, unconscious passenger, discover to me a
countenance as plain, withered, and fraught with the impress of evil
passions, as that of the _Lady in the Sacque_, in Sir Walter's tale of the
Tapestried Chamber. I never beheld so fretful and malignant-looking a
being!--and the contrast which her visage afforded to that of my
kind-hearted widow, which beamed with satisfaction and good-humour, was
quite remarkable. This "lady," indeed, now appeared to have regained her
native element, and not to be out-done in frankness by Mistress Baker,
first avowed herself the widow of a chandler, but lately retired from