“Don’t what?” I asked. “I’m not doing anything.” “Well, but I thought you were going to take toll,” replied the widow. “_Toll!_” I rejoined. “What’s that?” “Well, I declare!” cried the widow, her clear laugh ringing out above the music of the bells, “you pretend you don’t know what toll is!” “Indeed I don’t, then,” I said, laughing; “explain, if you please.” “You never heard, then,” said the widow, most provokingly,—“you never heard that when we are on a sleigh-ride the gentlemen always,—that is, sometimes,—when they cross a bridge, claim a kiss, and call it toll. But I never pay it.” I said that I had never heard of it before; but when we came to the next bridge I claimed the toll, and the widow’s struggles to hold the veil over her face were not enough to tear it. At last the veil was removed, her round, rosy face was turned directly towards mine, and in the clear light of a frosty moon the toll was taken, for the first time in my experience. Soon we came to a long bridge, with several arches; the widow said it was of no use to resist a man who would have his own way, so she paid the toll without a murmur. “But you won’t take toll for every arch, _will_ you?” she said, so archly that I could not fail to exact all my dues; and that was the beginning of my courtship. SUDDEN ATTACHMENT. It is related of Curran, the famous Irish orator and wit, that he was one evening sitting in a box at the French Opera, between an Irish noblewoman, whom he had accompanied there, and a very young French lady. The ladies soon manifested a strong desire to converse, but neither of them knew a word of the other’s language. Curran, of course, volunteered to interpret, or, in his own words, “to be the carrier of their thoughts, and accountable for their safe delivery.” They went at it at once, with all the ardor and zest of the Irish and French nature combined; but their interpreter took the liberty of substituting his own thoughts for theirs, and instead of remarks upon the dresses and the play he introduced so many finely-turned compliments that the two ladies soon became completely fascinated with each other. At last, their enthusiasm becoming sufficiently great, the wily interpreter, in conveying some very innocent questions from his countrywoman, asked the French lady “if she would favor her with a kiss.” Instantly springing across the orator, she imprinted a kiss on each cheek of the Irish lady, who was amazed at her sudden attack, and often afterwards asked Mr. Curran, “What in the world could that French girl have meant by such conduct in such a place?” He never revealed the secret, and the Irish lady always thought French girls were very ardent and sudden in their attachments. EARLY DISCRIMINATION.