But, alas! the work of years may be shattered in a moment! Hard as the heart of Mr. Hazleton had become, it melted like the frost of an autumn morning under the sunny beams of Mrs. Ketchim’s eyes! It was at Saratoga, that great hunting-ground of Cupid, that Mr. Hazleton first encountered the glances of the pretty widow. Whether that lady was in truth on a matrimonial chase cannot be definitely stated. Yet one thing is certain, no sooner did she meet with this rich, hard-hearted old bachelor than she determined to forget her departed Ketchim, and catch him—thus nobly avenging in her own person the slights her sex had received. What could not a fair and handsome widow accomplish with “sparkling black e’en and a bonnie sweet man!” Mr. Hazleton was lost. The age of the widow was an enigma which no one but herself could solve. She did acknowledge she was _too_ young—she did also own to the interesting fact that one sweet child called her “mother.” “Ah, a little golden-haired cherub, of some four or five summers!” thought our lover. What, then, was the surprise of Mr. Hazleton when, a few weeks after their marriage, a tall, beautiful girl of seventeen rushed into the parlor, and, giving him a hearty kiss, called him “papa!” He had abjured spectacles, using only the eyes of love, but he now for a moment involuntarily resumed them, and gazed long and inquiringly at his charming wife. He was satisfied. Mrs. Hazleton smiled as sweetly, and looked just as young and bewitching as she had appeared to him before—so he returned the filial salute of his _daughter_ with a paternal embrace, and unlocked another chamber of his heart to receive her. Some months passed pleasantly on, and the honey-moon waxed not old. The so long time bachelor almost wept with sorrow over those lost years spent alone, and blessed the hour which had harbingered his present happiness. By degrees a little, a very little difference of opinion began to display itself—but insensibly gathering strength from frequent recurrence. Most generally, however, the husband yielded, and harmony was restored. Julia was a lively, good-hearted girl—her faults more the result of her mother’s mismanagement than her own willfulness. In fact, it was Julia herself who first suggested the invitation which Alice Churchill received from her uncle. “Dear me, papa, how dull it is! Pray have not you any relations?” she inquired one evening, when they were left _tête-à-tête_. This was rather a posing question, for indeed Mr. Hazleton could hardly remember whether he had any or not. “No sisters, or nieces?” continued Julia. “Or nice young nephews?” added Mr. Hazleton. “Yes, papa—a cousin would be so delightful!” and here Julia sighed and looked sad. Why she sighed the reader shall know bye and bye.