Mr. Lewis had just passed on his way, after reading the paper with feelings which of course I could not divine, when, from the other side, I saw approaching a pretty little female figure, dressed in a peculiar style, or rather in a medley of a great number of styles and fashions, outraging all of them in some respects. She had no bonnet on, but merely a parasol over her head; the length of her dress, instead of being of that extensive flow which has succeeded the short petticoats of a few years ago, was brief enough to show an exceedingly pretty foot and ankle, but it was so conspicuously full as to put me in mind of the costume of some of the Swiss cantons. Her shoes had minute buckles in them instead of being sandalled in modern style; and her hair, instead of being propped up to a towering height with a scaffolding of tortoise-shell, lay flat, and was gathered into a knot behind, in the antique Greek mode. As soon as her parasol was turned a little aside, I perceived it was Miss Davenport; and though she came quietly on, with her eyes bent upon the path, apparently unconscious that I was in the porch, I was, I am afraid, unjust to her, and imagined that there was a good deal of coquetry in both dress and manner. She had puzzled me the night before--she puzzled me still. There was something of frankness, something of archness, which was not displeasing; but something also of daring, of independence, of wilfulness, which I did not like. Pretty she certainly was, nay, beautiful; for the more one examined the small features and delicate form, the more symmetry and the more grace were apparent. But I never was one of those who can fall in love with pictures, or statues, or even marionettes. Pygmalion's statue might have remained ivory to the great conflagration, before I would have sighed or prayed it into life; and as for actresses, I always feel a green curtain falling between me and them, even before the end of the play. It seemed that morning as if some peculiar demon had seized upon me, and made me resolve, for my sins, to see what really was in Bessy Davenport--to tease her, to worry her, and to bring out the latent soul. I went forward to meet her; and, as soon as she really saw me, her whole aspect and manner changed. A gay, light, half-sarcastic smile played upon her lip, her eyes sparkled, and, holding out her hand, she said,-- "Good morning, cousin; I hope your aristocratic head has been able to repose quietly in this democratic community."