“A sorry Baronet was he-not a bit like my dear ancestor, Sir Sunderland,” Mrs. Swiggs interposes.

“Not a bit, Madam,” bows our hero.  “Like a sensible gentleman, as I was about to say, finding it getting too hot for him, packed up his alls, and in the company of his unpaid servant, left for parts westward of this.  I had a suspicion the fellow was not what he should be; and I made it known to my select friends of the St. Cecilia, who generally pooh-poohed me.  A nobleman, they said, should receive every attention.  And to show that he wasn’t what he should be, when he got to Augusta his servant sued him for his wages; and having nothing but his chivalry, which the servant very sensibly declined to accept for payment, he came out like a man, and declared himself nothing but a poor player.

“But this neither satisfied Constance nor stayed the drifting current of slander—­”

“Oh!  I am so glad it was no worse,” Mrs. Swiggs interrupts again.

“True!” Mr. Soloman responds, laughing heartily, as he taps her on the arm.  “It might have been worse, though.  Well, I am, as you know, always ready to do a bit of a good turn for a friend in need, and pitying poor Constance as I did, I suggested a committee of four most respectable gentlemen, and myself, to investigate the matter.  The thing struck Constance favorably, you see.  So we got ourselves together, agreed to consider ourselves a Congress, talked over the affairs of the nation, carried a vote to dissolve the Union, drank sundry bottles of Champagne, (I longed for a taste of your old Madeira, Mrs. Swiggs,) and brought in a verdict that pleased Mrs. Constance wonderfully-and so it ought.  We were, after the most careful examination, satisfied that the reports prejudicial to the character and standing of Mrs. Constance had no foundation in truth, being the base fabrications of evil-minded persons, who sought, while injuring an innocent lady, to damage the reputation of the St. Cecilia Society.  Mr. Constance was highly pleased with the finding; and finally it proved the sovereign balm that healed all their wounds.  Of course, the Knight, having departed, was spared his blood.”

Here Mr. Soloman makes a pause.  Mrs. Swiggs, with a sigh, says, “Is that all?”

“Quite enough for once, my good Madam,” Mr. Soloman bows in return.

“Oh!  I am so glad the St. Cecilia is yet spared to us.  You said, you know, it was all up with it—­”

“Up? up?-so it is!  That is, it won’t break it up, you know.  Why-oh, I see where the mistake is-it isn’t all over, you know, seeing how the society can live through a score of nine-months scandals.  But the thing’s in every vulgar fellow’s lips-that is the worst of it.”