“The next morning matters drew to a crisis. The coffee, manufactured by Mr. S——, was execrable; and this, with a banquet of burned beef and something that Biddy termed ‘short-cake,’ lumps of dough, scorched without and raw within, utterly failed to satisfy the appetites of the six visitors, who were going upon a long journey; and they departed with a conviction that my husband’s invitation had been extremely ill-timed, and prevented them from accepting others that might have proved pleasant. “‘My dear,’ said Mr. S—— to me one day, after I had been home some little time, ‘are you not making an uncommon quantity of cake? Do you expect any visitors?’ “‘I do not _expect_ any,’ I replied. ‘But they may come without expecting. Perhaps the six ministers will stop here on their return.’ “Mr. S—— gave me a look, but it was only to smile at the expression of my eyes, which, I felt, were, fairly dancing; and he replied quite meekly: “‘It was very foolish of me to be so unreasonable—but I have had a lesson that will not be soon forgotten.’ “I could have thrown my arms around him in ecstasy, but they were full of flour, and as I had ‘a respect for the _cloth_,’ I desisted. He never again volunteered to take in six ministers at once; how truly they had been ‘_taken in_,’ they could probably testify.” “Well,” said Milly, with a sigh, “were you not sorry that you had married Mr. S——?” “Not at all,” replied the visitor, with a smile at this detriment to her advice, “I would do the same thing again to-morrow.” Milly was surprised; she had seen Mr. S——, a grave, mild-looking gentleman, in a white cravat, but, while she regarded him with the greatest reverence, and trembled whenever she encountered him on the stairs, she could not realize the possibility of his compensating for all these trials—even Mr. Saybrook failed there. The next Sunday the young minister was as eloquent and fascinating as ever; but Milly glanced at his white cravat and thought of the ironings—she glanced at the congregation and thought of sewing-societies—and, like the things in “The Philosopher’s Scales,” Mr. Saybrook went up with a bound, while these stern realities pressed heavily down in the balance. Her eyes were opened, and the young minister fell to the lot of some competitor who had not been favored with “a peep behind the scenes.” * * * * * =FRAGMENT.—A PICTURE.= =BY WM. ALBERT SUTLIFFE.=