“Humph, that is a totally unfounded calumny on our sex; though, to be candid, I acknowledge it is but too true of all men, without a single exception—save myself!” “You? Oh, dear, oh! Ha! ha! ha! _You!_” “Yes, me! In what did you ever find me uncertain?” “In what? Oh, heavens! he asks in what! Why, in _all things_—mental, moral, and physical! In religion, politics, and morality! In friendship, love, and truth! In war, courtship, and money! In one word, you are a thorough, essential, organic uncertainty. Other people are uncertain—you are uncertainty. I think, in the day of general doom, you will find yourself—nothing in nowhere!” Uncle Billy turned away from this unmerciful philippic, and again asked Miss Sutherland if she had lately heard from her cousin. “I have not heard from him for two weeks,” replied the young lady, in a low voice, and without raising her eyes. “Nan, what would you give me for a letter?” inquired Mr. Bolling, rolling his little blue eyes merrily, as he drew one from his pocket and laid it before her. “Oh, Mr. Bolling! have you had this letter all this time, and detained it from me?” said the beauty, reproachfully, as she took it, and, excusing herself, withdrew into the house to peruse it. “Come, Rosalie, this night air is deadly to you, my child.” “Oh, mamma, see, the full moon is just rising over those purple hills. I only want to see it reflected in the river, and then I will come.” “Are you moon-struck, then, Rosalie? Come in; you can safely view the scene from the house. Besides, coffee is about to be served.” And the lady gave her hand to her step-daughter and assisted her to arise, and then tenderly drawing the girl’s arm within her own, turned to lead her into the house. And Mr. Bolling lifted himself up, and picking up his straw hat, said—