66 This," said Mr. Brandon in the same unnaturally calm voice, "this is Mr. Joseph Winter. I wish to call his attention to those two persons on the porch."

With this he pushed the elderly gentleman to the window.

Mr. Winter somewhat perplexed, looked, started, and finally rubbed his nose with an impatient forefinger.

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Why," he cried, "that's my Phil! Gracious me! what is the boy doing? What, kissin good Lord, Phil is in one of his walking-fits! He's subject to spells of somnambulism, you know, and goes walking about on ridge-poles and millwheels, and things like that fool-woman in the opera. "You Phil!" thundered Mr. Winter. "You Phil!"

I heard Miss Hepzibah give a scream like the shrill whistle of a steam engine. It broke the charm of young Winter's slumber. He stood, bewildered, leaning against the garden-gate, while

his father from my window above was affectionately inquiring of him if he intended to be a born fool all the days of his life.

me.

As to myself, my existence became a burden to

"I'm sure" said bonny Kate, the next morning, one cheek burning like the under side of a peony petal, "I'm sure I can't think of marrying a man who doesn't know when he's asleep!"

But she did, nevertheless; for the following autumn, in the small whitewashed church that sanctifies the primeval village of Rye, I heard these two people say the life-long words together. I * then and there forgave Miss Kate's allusion to No. 97, and promised to wear her name like a rose in my memory, holding myself fortunate moreover, in having a loyal friend in Miss Hepzi

bah's lover.

As to Miss Hepzibah herself, she is, I believe, still open to sealed proposals. Here's a chance for you, young gentlemen! It would compensate a

man for many of the petty miseries of life to hear

her talk about Philip Winter.

She thinks he was not so fast asleep as he ap peared to be!

THE LADY WITH THE BALMORAL. The Impressible Man's Story.

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F you will, for the sake of dramatic propriety, imagine that I am not myself, but my friend Mr. Tibbs, I will tell you his story precisely as that facetious gentleman related it

to me. Mr. Tibbs began and went on as follows.

By Jove!" cried Mr. Frederick Markem, throwing back my chamber door with such violence that the knob went into the wall about two inches.

I immediately upset my inkstand, for I am a nervous man. The least noise startles me.

"O by Jove!" continued Mr. Markem, stretching himself out in the arm-chair.

"Jove," I remarked, "was a very estimable person, in his way."

"I have seen women," said Mr. Markem, quietly ignoring me, "I should think I had; handsome women, too, by the streetful; but never in my life did I ever lay eyes on such a glorious, superb, magnificent, divine out-and-out ring-tailed snorter, if I may be permitted to use the expression.'

I objected. I did not consider "ring-tailed snorter," whatever it might be, the proper phrase under the circumstances; I did not know what the circumstances were; it did not make any difference what they were there could be no cir

cumstances that would sanction such infelicity of language. No, I objected.

Still Mr. Markem went on in an extravagant manner, describing a lady whom he had met some twenty minutes previously on the corner of Broadway and Thirteenth street.

Juno, Hebe and Eurydice (so far as Mr. Mark

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