“Why, everybody thinks you, sir, the happiest, most independent, most contented old bachelor in the world. Quite an enviable person.” “I am not at all to be envied, Julius. As to being happy,—that’s all a sham. I have never been contented since they called me an old bachelor. No, no,—you must have a wife. I have picked one out for you.” “Indeed! pray who is she, uncle?” “One of the loveliest girls in the city,—your cousin Henrietta Attwood.” “Etty Attwood! the pretty little second-cousin who used to come sometimes to visit us when I was a boy! I remember her well;—the most beautiful, sweetest tempered child in the world; with bright brown eyes, and flaxen ringlets curling over her shoulders and down to her waist! if she is as charming a woman as she was a child, I have not the shadow of an objection. I used to call her my little wife then, and the first poetry I ever perpetrated, was some stanzas addressed to her on her birthday.” “Yes, she has shown them to me more than once; she remembers you as well as you do her, and often inquires of me about her cousin and old play-fellow, Julius Rockwell.” “But do you think she would have me, uncle?” “Why shouldn’t she?—you are plaguy good-looking,—you know that well enough,—very much like what I was at your age; you have sense plenty,—that is, if you are not a degenerate shoot of your family; if you have not, you must acquire it; you have formed no bad habits, I hope;—if you have, I must cane them out of you. And Etty will do whatever I bid her,—I know she will. She is aware that I was looking for you, and will expect you to call to see her immediately.” “I shall be delighted to do so; can you take me this evening, uncle? But how does it happen that she is in the city? Her parents, I believe, reside in the country still.” “She is with her aunt, Mrs. Attwood, a rich widow, who having married off all her own daughters, has begged a share of her time for the sake of her company. She is very much of a belle, but if you manage properly, you and she will make a match of it in less than six months, or my name is not Herman Holcroft. You must then live with me. I begin to feel lonesome as I grow old, and, you perceive, I have house-room for twenty more.” “My dear uncle, you are too kind!” “Stop a moment! remember it is only on condition you bring Etty with you; I don’t know that I would like any one else. So I will go with you, and introduce you to-night. I was afraid you would have to wait to be provided with a new suit, but am agreeably disappointed. You look not only genteel but fashionable. Your country tailors must be on the march of improvement.” “Oh! since steam-engines are so abundant, no one need be behind the fashions, unless he chooses;—but, uncle,—look here, quick!—Ah! she has gone around that corner!” “Who?—what is it?” asked the old bachelor, hastily rising from his superb, damask covered rocking chair, to approach the window. “A young lady,—the loveliest, brightest—”