“Out man!—­out!  Let your sense of right, if you have it, teach you what is friendship.  Know that, like mercy, it is not poured out with hands reeking of female dishonor.”

Mr. Keepum, like many more of our very fine gentlemen, had so trained his thoughts to look upon the poor as slaves created for a base use, that he neither could bring his mind to believe in the existence of such things as noble spirits under humble roofs, nor to imagine himself-even while committing the grossest outrages-doing aught to sully the high chivalric spirit he fancied he possessed.  The old Antiquary, on the other hand, was not a little surprised to find his daughter displaying such extraordinary means of repulsing an enemy.

Trembling, and child-like he stands, conscious of being in the grasp of a knave, whose object was more the ruin of his daughter than the recovery of a small amount of money, the tears glistening in his eyes, and the finger of old age marked on his furrowed brow.

“Father, father!” says Maria, and the words hang upon her quivering lips, her face becomes pale as marble, her strength deserts her,—­she trembles from head to foot, and sinks upon the old man’s bosom, struggling to smother her sobs.  Her passion has left her; her calmer nature has risen up to rebuke it.  The old man leads her tenderly to the sofa, and there seeks to sooth her troubled spirit.

“As if this hub bub was always to last!” a voice speaks suddenly.  It is the Hon. Mr. Snivel, who looks in at the eleventh hour, as he says, to find affairs always in a fuss.  “Being a man of legal knowledge-always ready to do a bit of a good turn-especially in putting a disordered house to rights-I thought it well to look in, having a leisure minute or two (we have had a convention for dissolving the Union, and passed a vote to that end!) to give to my old friends,” Mr. Snivel says, in a voice at once conciliating and insinuating.  “I always think of a border feud when I come here-things that find no favor with me.”  Mr. Snivel, having first patted the old man on the shoulder, exchanges a significant wink with his friend Keepum, and then bestows upon him what he is pleased to call a little wholesome advice.  “People misunderstand Mr. Keepum,” he says, “who is one of the most generous of men, but lacks discretion, and in trying to be polite to everybody, lets his feelings have too much latitude now and then.”  Maria buries her face in her handkerchief, as if indifferent to the reconciliation offered.

“Now let this all be forgotten-let friendship reign among friends:  that’s my motto.  But!  I say,—­this is a bad piece of news we have this morning.  Clipped this from an English paper,” resumes the Hon. gentleman, drawing coolly from his pocket a bit of paper, having the appearance of an extract.