anxious that he should proceed, expecting to be informed of something marvellous and mysterious. He invented an artful story, the drift of which was to give the widow a high idea of himself, of the power that love had over him, and of the generosity of his own mind. His greatest misfortune, he said, was disappointment in love, the object of his choice having been stolen from him by an old rich uncle, against her inclination, and he stated that he had just left home, in order to divert his mind from the melancholy with which this had overcast him; “chance,” said he, in conclusion, “has thrown me into this hospitable house, where I cannot but own I have found as much beauty as I have been unfortunately deprived of.” This story excited considerable interest throughout the company, more particularly in the breast of the widow, towards whom Witherington now evinced unequivocal marks of attention, which seemed to excite considerable jealousy in some of the gentlemen present. They all parted, however, on the most friendly terms, and our adventurer resolved to stay some time at Nantwich, in order to follow out this adventure. Next morning, Witherington renewed his assiduities, and both he and the amorous widow were equally gratified with each other’s company; at length, determined to carry his point by a _coup de grace_, he declared a most ardent passion for her, which, after much prefacing and many assurances, was returned tenfold. She assured him, at the same time, that he had many rivals, but over these he had gained the pre-eminence, in her estimation. A few days after the first interview with the other suitors at the inn, Witherington’s ascendancy was so evident, that a rival, who imagined he had the game within reach, was seriously alarmed, and had recourse to stratagem to free himself from such an opponent. For this purpose he sent for Witherington, and, with every appearance of disinterested friendship, informed him, that he had sent for him to caution him against further intimacy with the widow, to whom he confessed he once paid matrimonial court, but that he had thrown her completely off since he had discovered the measure of her guilt, and congratulated himself upon his escape. Expressing his detestation of the character of a defamer, and solemnly avowing the purity of his motives, he informed Witherington, that the widow was most fickle and insincere in her attachment, as any one might have discovered at the supper party: and, in order to gratify this wavering inclination, she had poisoned her last husband. He entreated him then, as he valued his own happiness and security, to desist from prosecuting his intentions farther, and hoped Witherington would pardon the liberty he had taken; for, hearing his acquaintance was to end in marriage, and considering the fortunate escape he had himself made, he was bound to prevent a stranger from being imposed upon.