rested a clock, as white and cold as the slab beneath; a small basket of delicate ferns, as if half ashamed of their vivid green, retired behind the solemn mouth of a tall undecorated silver candlestick. The room was well-nigh filled with chairs placed in regular order, and two hair-cloth sofas whose broad seats accommodated the elders of the meeting. Directly below the picture of the venerable Penn were the places designed for George and Cassy, straight-backed old oaken chairs, that would be a delight to the antiquarian of to-day, and near the right wall stood a small table upon which rested a roll of parchment, a pen, and a substantial ink-well. One of the windows was open, and the fresh sweet air came in laden with the noises of the street: the rumble of the carts, the click of hoofs upon the sharp stone pavements, the distant cries of venders, and the whistle of the locomotive. The light breeze stirred the cap borders and the kerchiefs of the placid women, who lifted their soft hands to rearrange the muslin with the same instinct that prompts the care of curl and ornament in their fashionable sisters. The parchment fluttered to the ground, and in replacing it there was exposed to view a page of exquisite penmanship, the great letters in ornate Old English hardly belonging to Quaker simplicity. Meanwhile in the sitting room at the head of the first flight of stairs there was a sweet picture. This apartment was so entirely an emanation from the home life that the stiffness and coldness of the lower room was totally lacking. The very loud tick of the old-fashioned mahogany clock that stood in the corner had a sound of cheer. The little wood fire on the hearth gave out a welcome, and the half dozen rockers and lounging chairs in gray and brown dress held open arms. A big Maltese cat crouched by the rug, a few pencil sketches from the hand of a favorite nephew graced the wall, and a heavy bookcase gave evidence thro’ its glass door, of much substantial learning. There was a cluster of periodicals on a stand, the clear title of “The Friend” recalling their import; a stereo-scope with a tray of views, a basket of knitting work, and, hanging on the back of a peculiar easy-chair, the round pillow that betokens snatches of rest.