“You needn’t concern yourself,” said Mrs. Dilberry, tartly; “if I had wanted to go to a boarding-house, I dare say I could have found one where we could have lived a great deal cheaper than at any you would be likely to pitch upon. I got enough of living on expense at the tavern, and I’ve not made up my mind to pay boarding for the little pleasure we’re likely to have. We’ve been to the theatre only once, and never were taken any where else, and there seems to be but precious little pains spent upon having attentions showed us. I’m one of them that always speak their minds; and I must say I can’t see where the politeness is in people, when they have company, running off and leaving them in the lurch, particularly when they haven’t got their dresses made or any thing. I shall be careful who I take a letter of introduction to again.” The third day after this I was prepared to commence my trip, and my guests having taken passage for their homeward journey, were to leave the house at the same time, it having been decided that their furniture was to be boxed and sent after them. They had comported themselves, in the meantime, as if under a strong sense of injury, Miss Esther Ann being frigid and lofty, her sister sullen, and the old lady snappish and uncivil. The carriage was waiting for my conveyance, when the stage-coach, well-loaded with passengers, drove up to the door for them. I had wished them a safe and pleasant journey, offering them my hand, which they pretended not to observe, and was standing on the door-step to see them off, when Mrs. Dilberry paused, with one foot on the floor of the coach, as my husband was assisting her to climb in, and winking at her daughters, called back to me, “Good by to you, ma’am, and I hope you may have a merrier time of your trip than we have had of ours. I’ll not forget to give your love to the doctor’s wife, and let her know how you honored her letter of introduction.” A chuckling laugh, which reached me in spite of the grinding of the wheels as they rolled away, was the last I heard of my wind-fall from Tarry-town. * * * * * DIRGE, The beautiful is vanished, and returns not.—_Coleridge’s Wallenstein._