The good-natured fat man, breathing somewhat freer, says: “Truly! these people have a pleasant way of passing out of the world. They die of their artful practices-seeking to devour the good and the generous.” “There’s more suffers than imposes-an’ there’s more than’s written meant in that same bit of paper. Toddleworth was as inoffensive a creature as you’d meet in a day. May God forgive him all his faults;” interposes Mr. Detective Fitzgerald, gathering up his cap and passing slowly out of the room. And this colloquy is put an end to by the sudden appearance of Sister Slocum. A rustling silk dress, of quiet color, and set off with three modest flounces; an India shawl, loosely thrown over her shoulders; a dainty little collar, of honiton, drawn neatly about her neck, and a bonnet of buff-colored silk, tastefully set off with tart-pie work without, and lined with virtuous white satin within, so saucily poised on her head, suggests the idea that she has an eye to fashion as well as the heathen world. Her face, too, always so broad, bright, and benevolent in its changes-is chastely framed in a crape border, so nicely crimped, so nicely tucked under her benevolent chin at one end, and so nicely pinned under the virtuous white lining at the other. Goodness itself radiates from those large, earnest blue eyes, those soft, white cheeks, that large forehead, with those dashes of silvery hair crossing it so smoothly and so exactly-that well-developed, but rather broad nose, and that mouth so expressive of gentleness.