“True!” Mr. Soloman responds, laughing heartily, as he taps her on the arm. “It might have been worse, though. Well, I am, as you know, always ready to do a bit of a good turn for a friend in need, and pitying poor Constance as I did, I suggested a committee of four most respectable gentlemen, and myself, to investigate the matter. The thing struck Constance favorably, you see. So we got ourselves together, agreed to consider ourselves a Congress, talked over the affairs of the nation, carried a vote to dissolve the Union, drank sundry bottles of Champagne, (I longed for a taste of your old Madeira, Mrs. Swiggs,) and brought in a verdict that pleased Mrs. Constance wonderfully—and so it ought. We were, after the most careful examination, satisfied that the reports prejudicial to the character and standing of Mrs. Constance had no foundation in truth, being the base fabrications of evil-minded persons, who sought, while injuring an innocent lady, to damage the reputation of the St. Cecilia Society. Mr. Constance was highly pleased with the finding; and finally it proved the sovereign balm that healed all their wounds. Of course, the Knight, having departed, was spared his blood.” Here Mr. Soloman makes a pause. Mrs. Swiggs, with a sigh, says, “Is that all?” “Quite enough for once, my good Madam,” Mr. Soloman bows in return. “Oh! I am so glad the St. Cecilia is yet spared to us. You said, you know, it was all up with it—” “Up? up?—so it is! That is, it won’t break it up, you know. Why—oh, I see where the mistake is—it isn’t all over, you know, seeing how the society can live through a score of nine-months scandals. But the thing’s in every vulgar fellow’s lips—that is the worst of it.” Mrs. Swiggs relishes this bit of gossip as if it were a dainty morsel; and calling Rebecca, she commands her to forthwith proceed into the cellar and bring a bottle of the old Madeira—she has only five left—for Mr. Soloman. And to Mr. Soloman’s great delight, the old negress hastily obeys the summons; brings forth a mass of cobweb and dust, from which a venerable black bottle is disinterred, uncorked, and presented to the guest, who drinks the health of Mrs. Swiggs in sundry well-filled glasses, which he declares choice, adding, that it always reminds him of the age and dignity of the family. Like the State, dignity is Mrs. Swiggs’ weakness—her besetting sin. Mr. Soloman, having found the key to this vain woman’s generosity, turns it when it suits his own convenience. “By-the-bye,” he suddenly exclaims, “you’ve got Tom locked up again.” “As safe as he ever was, I warrant ye!” Mrs. Swiggs replies, resuming her Milton and rocking-chair. “Upon my faith I agree with you. Never let him get out, for he is sure to disgrace the family when he does—”