about Parker's. “Well, Marcia,” he said, folding up his doily, which does not betray use like the indiscreet white napkin, “I'll just take you round and show you the _outside_ of Parker's, and some day we'll go there and get dinner.” He not only showed her Parker's, but the City Hall; they walked down School Street, and through Washington as far as Boylston: and Bartley pointed out the Old South, and brought Marcia home by the Common, where they stopped to see the boys coasting under the care of the police, between two long lines of spectators. “The State House,” said Bartley, with easy command of the facts, and, pointing in the several directions; “Beacon Street; Public Garden; Back Bay.” She came home to Mrs. Nash joyfully admiring the city, but admiring still more her husband's masterly knowledge of it. Mrs. Nash was one of those people who partake intimately of the importance of the place in which they live; to whom it is sufficient splendor and prosperity to be a Bostonian, or New-Yorker, or Chicagoan, and who experience a delicious self-flattery in the celebration of the municipal grandeur. In his degree, Bartley was of this sort, and he exchanged compliments of Boston with Mrs. Nash, till they grew into warm favor with each other. After a while, he said he must go up-stairs and do some writing; and then he casually dropped the fact that he was an editor, and that he had come to Boston to get an engagement on a newspaper; he implied that he had come to take one. “Well,” said Mrs. Nash, smoothing the back of the cat, which she had in her lap, “I guess there ain't anything like our Boston papers. And they say this new one--the 'Daily Events'--is goin' to take the lead. You acquainted any with our Boston editors?” Bartley hemmed. “Well--I know the proprietor of the Events.” “Ah, yes: Mr. Witherby. Well, they say he's got the money. I hear my lodgers talkin' about that paper consid'able. I haven't ever seen it.” Bartley now went up-stairs; he had an idea in his head. Marcia remained with Mrs. Nash a few moments. “He's been in Boston before,” she said, with proud satisfaction; “he visited here when he was in college.” “Law, is he college-bred?” cried Mrs. Nash. “Well, I thought he looked 'most too wide-awake for that. He aint a bit offish. He seems _re'l_ practical. What you hurryin' off so for?” she asked, as Marcia rose, and stood poised on the threshold, in act to follow her husband. “Why don't you set here with me, while he's at his writin'? You'll just keep talkin to him and takin' his mind off, the whole while. You stay here!” she commanded hospitably. “You'll just be in the way, up there.” This was a novel conception to Marcia, but its good sense struck her. “Well, I will,” she said. “I'll run up a minute to leave my things, and then I'll come back.”