'How sweetly she speaks!' continued Rust, in his old strain; 'how charmingly she looks when excited! Ah! Kate, you're a little devil; you've made sad havoc here!' said he, placing his hand on his heart--'sad havoc!' 'Mr. Rust,' returned Kate, angrily, 'unless you end this conversation, either you or I must leave the room.' 'Well, well, I don't believe you're in earnest, Kate; on my soul I don't; but I will drop it; but one favor--grant me only one favor. It's not a great one. I know you'll grant it, you're such an angel.' Kate looked at him without speaking, and he went on: 'One kiss, Kate; one single, sweet kiss from my own dear darling, to comfort me amid my misfortunes!' Kate Rhoneland started up, her eyes flashing fire. 'Leave this house, Sir!' 'Ho! ho! how sweetly she orders!' exclaimed Rust, advancing toward her; 'how bright her eyes are! how the rich color plays along her cheek! how beautiful my own Kate is! 'Leave this house,' indeed! The thing's impossible, with such a charmer within it. Come, Kate; one kiss--_only_ one; I'll tell no one, not even Ned. Upon my soul, I won't tell Ned.' Kate made an attempt to spring past him, but he caught her by her dress, drew her to him, threw his arms about her waist, and pressed his lips to hers. It was a dear kiss to him; for while she was struggling in his grasp, the door opened, a heavy blow lighted on his head, and he fell like a stone on the floor. 'If he's dead, be it so!' said a stern voice. But it was not so. For a moment he lay like one who had seen his last sun; then he staggered up, pressed his hands to his temples, looked about him with a bewildered air, until his eyes encountered those of Jacob Rhoneland, bright with passion, and his whole frame quivering with rage. Gradually Rust's faculties began to rally, until he and Rhoneland stood gazing face to face. 'So it was _you_, was it, good Jacob?' said he, moving to the door. 'Thank you, my kind friend; I'll not forget you! Farewell, good Jacob. To your dying day you shall have cause to remember that you struck Michael Rust.' He bowed profoundly to them, shut the door, and went out. EPIGRAM: FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO. THOU gazest on the stars, my Star, And would I were the sky, To view thy lovely face afar With many a burning eye! W. H. W. THE PRINTER.