`It was Mr Huntingdon, the son of uncle's old friend.'

`I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr Huntingdon. I've heard him say, "He's a fine lad, that young Huntingdon, but a bit wildish I fancy." So I'd have you beware.'

`What does "a bit wildish" mean?' I enquired.

`It means destitute of principle, and prone to every vice that is common to youth.'

`But I've heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he was young.'

She sternly shook her head.

`He was jesting then, I suppose,' said I, `and here he was speaking at random--at least, I cannot believe there is any harm in those laughing blue eyes.'

`False reasoning, Helen!' said she, with a sigh.

`Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt--besides, I don't think it is false: I am an excellent physiognomist, and I always judge of people's characters by their looks--not by whether they are handsome or ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance. For instance, I should know by your countenance that you were not of a cheerful, sanguine disposition; and I should know by Mr Wilmot's that he was a worthless old reprobate, and by Mr Boarham's that he was not an agreeable companion, and by Mr Huntingdon's that he was neither a fool nor a knave, though, possibly, neither a sage nor a saint--but that is no matter to me, as I am not likely to meet him again--unless as an occasional partner in the ballroom.

It was not so, however, for I met him again next morning. He came to call upon my uncle, apologizing for not having done so before, by saying he was only lately returned from the continent, and had not heard, till the previous night, of my uncle's arrival in town; and after that, I often met him; sometimes in public, sometimes at home; for he was very assiduous in paying his respects to his old friend, who did not, however, consider himself greatly obliged by the attention.

`I wonder what the deuce the lad means by coming so often,' he would say,--`can you tell, Helen?--Hey? He wants none o' my company, nor I his--that's certain.'

`I wish you'd tell him so, then,' said my aunt.

Why, what for? If I don't want him, somebody does mayhap (winking at me). Besides, he's a pretty tidy fortune, Peggy, you know--not such a catch as Wilmot, but then Helen won't hear of that match; for, somehow, these old chaps don't go down with the girls--with all their money--and their experience to boot. I'll bet anything she'd rather have this young fellow without a penny, than Wilmot with his house full of gold--Wouldn't you, Nell?'

`Yes, uncle; but that's not saying much for Mr Huntingdon, for I'd rather be an old maid and a pauper, than Mrs Wilmot.'

`And Mrs Huntingdon? bat would you rather be than Mrs Huntingdon? eh?'

`I'll tell you when I've considered the matter.'

`Ah! it needs consideration then--But come now--would you rather be an old maid--let alone the pauper?'

`I can't tell till I'm asked.'

And I left the room immediately, to escape further examination. But five minutes after, in looking from my window, I beheld Mr Boarham coming up to the door. I waited nearly half an hour in uncomfortable